I asked her how she was feeling. She told me she was fine, as if she prided herself on not letting herself feel. As if armor were brave and transparency were wicked. She did not did dwell or ruminate, she just hovered above the silenced echo of who once was. How foreign that must feel, I thought. I felt deeper and wider than any measure of distance could catch and release. I dwelled in my sensibility until I unraveled myself right down to my very first, (or is it last), bone. Unraveled, I found something worthy of finding. Maybe this is it. It's not the unraveling that's scary it's what you will find when it's all over.