Waves wash over me and ripple out in rhythm with the sound of my father speaking. I can’t make out the words. I look down and see my hands. I turn them over and see a cloud in my palms.
How can something be so meaningful, yet make such little sense? I am sifting through the remains of my day. Tomorrow, after I awaken, these images will bleed through the day. The same the next night.
The waves swell, crest, and swallow me.
For #MayBookPrompts day 26 “The Remains of the Day”