It was the first night I was home. It was a dream that has been haunting me.
There are some things that are too delicate to share, at least until they are more sturdy. Sometimes though they stalk you until you deal with them, even if it means putting them out there in an abstract but manageable form:
She cried, pointing to the picture of a woman. I knew she was telling me that it was all wrong. Everything she had done was a lie, and she had done it all for me. My years as an imposter came crashing to their end. It was all over and I belonged nowhere. No anchor. It was rightlfully pulled out from under me.
I will ride on the float with you, I told her, in spite of it all.