Beloved

Just

And another week in this final semester waits to be filled. I've begun Ilan Pappe's The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine. When the cold death house was being torn apart and abandoned, I took my father's books and adopted them as my own. This book especially sat above his desk, nestled in with outdated books on C++ and Java.

It is this severe reminiscing that is causing me weight. I can't help but gather my memories and count them, like Baby Suggs and her colors. I am desperate for spring imminent, like everybody else. Like everybody else, I am wanting a "next step" to be visible.

This right-between-heaven-and-hell breeds sickness. I've self-diagnosed to clean up my computer's filing system and drink copious amounts of Earl Grey.