Lexi is sawing away at the cello; it demands more concentration than my daydreaming girl can sometimes muster.
She struggles, and looks over her shoulder for support.
I like the way she is willing to go through the trouble. It's not easy on a burgeoning perfectionist.
I've been waking up around 4 am lately, unable to fall back asleep. My hips hurt, sure, but my mind defaults to strange places in this place between sleep and Zack creeping in my room.
Flash: The swimming pool I went to as a child, handing my clothes in a hanging basket - the undies discreetly crammed in a shoe - to the man behind the counter.
Flash: The breezeway at my elementary school on election day.
Flash: A barbecue at my Grandma's house, in vivid color. (It sits vacant now, gray and dour.) The sun is hot and I am eyeing a piece of cheesecake until I am shooed away, told cream cheese is wasted on kids like me.
I lie in bed, devoid of thought, just a parade of snapshots for a bedfellow, and decide this is what it will be like to grow old, treading in days gone by.