me were her eyes. Everything was absorbed in their dark reflection. And there I was, blocking her view. Desperate, yes, but some part of me was persuaded to interfere.

I offered her a hand, May moved past it, wrapping her arms around me instead. I said, I love you. Her response was a faint echo of her mother’s last words: no you don’t. I then understood, the you I was speaking to, was someone from a different time.

In that final embrace, May became that once faraway teenager - applying makeup to her mother's embalmed face, concealing years of abuse she would never recover from.

leaving her home of many years behind, my grandmother is still present, even though she is slowly slipping away - vision blurred and memory fading. I watch as her feet stumble down the assisted-living hallway, bracing each step with an outstretched hand.

Her roommate argues that she stole her dress. Adding, that at night she creeps over to her bedside to wear her skin. Distracted by this disturbing image, I look back to see the suspected thief is gone.

I did not anticipate how great the loss was or the confusion that would follow. My immediate response was to disconnect from any virtual community. How could I share my dulling pain in a place of polished surfaces? - nothing to be reflected upon. So I stop showing up.

her funeral, I struggled to sleep, for the troubles that illuminate my dark room, project a comfort in exaggerated shadows. Outside branches become twisted hands as encouraging words become a bottomless pit. Notifications would arrive, and then replicate themselves, expressing condolences, and beckoning for my attention.

Out of the familiar, someone new appears. She lingers to be recognized - accepted as genuine and perhaps pursued with the same honesty. Yes, it might be a Miss direct. Her shallow appearance and lack of online presence, are usually the ones to ignore or to block completely.

the black ink bled through to the other side, my words, inviting her to take notice, found their way to the unread pages of her library. Perhaps in their discovery they will be redeemed–thoughtfully considered as pieces of an apology I was unable to form in her company.