She wishes her experiences would have more weight and texture. She thinks she's skimming over everything, recognizing but not appreciating beauty.
The suggestiveness of a bookcase, paintings, plants, and piles of papers glimpsed through a window.
Wind chimes chattering by an empty street.
The mural reminds her of home - a two-story house in a wooded lot, with a driveway shaped like the head of a cobra.
I try to feel around the edges of her carefully curated personality for what I think is there - her, her self, whatever that means.
Waiting to learn the outcome of her hospital visit. Stomach clenching every time the phone rings.
The sidewalk has disintegrated to a narrow shoulder of road, and I'm reminded of the suburb I grew up in. A nail salon, an Italian restaurant, a bagel store, and a laundromat in a clot beside an artery of traffic.