I wasn’t sure how I would feel about this night.  I’m keep glancing at the clock, and I feel panicked as each minute passes, but I know when the anniversary minute ticks silently by, the looming impossible one year mark, nothing will have changed.  I don’t know how to express it, but this night is not what I expected.  It’s incoherent and jumbled, it’s brown and red and gray and blue and green and black, and it seems like half-dried paint, muddy on a palette.  Yellow ochre in gray murky water.

Love,

black sheeped