I decided to make myself an egg and potato breakfast this morning. While I was cutting the potato, I suddenly had to stop and collect myself. I felt like I couldn't breathe and I wanted to cry. I remembered Denali making potatoes at her apartment in Oakland. I remembered her using too much butter or oil or whatever and worrying about her dietary habits. I remember the smell.
I soaked up that memory and immersed myself in it. She is dying in me, and I only get these moments of her. It's horrible.
Posted by Matt at August 26, 2003 11:59 AM