I would prefer it “11” rather than “9” so I don’t have to trudge through 2 extra hours of nothingness but one mustn’t grumble. A “floaty” descent back to reality beckons me so, none too sharp or my mind might burst rather than bubble. Splintered light dances across my half-done, half-full, half-empty, two halves too much bedroom with it’s warm autumn kiss & distracts me from half truths. She had the most radiant smile. Something to make you laugh & cry, dance & devote all at the same time. She wasn’t real anymore, I’m fairly sure of it, but what’s most upsetting is I don’t know is she ever was. Physically? Yes, but I think ideology made up the best part. The “laughing & crying, dancing & devote” will always live on in my heart; I just hope it wasn’t all in my mind.