"Sometimes I don't understand the world," she said to me one sunny Sunday and I had to agree because really, I didn't understand it most of the time either. But she continued, "I don't know why that matters, I know most people don't understand but it just does. I want to know how to exist in this world and I just can't." She lost me there so I changed the subject to her cats and kept walking, hoping she'd do the same. She sat instead, always the rebel and stared at nothing, which by its very nature could not stare back. I called her name quietly but nothing broke her trance.

"And sometimes, I think I understand it all. I don't know which is worse."

Now it was silence and the silence grew and it covered us and painted us and ate us over and over and over until even our smallest particles were gone and everything was nothing except the one whisper in the void



Sometimes.