me.
She told me why once, while she was still well, sitting with me on the porch looking at the water. She said: you’re the one who sees it the way I see it.
I did not fully understand her then.
I do now.
She died in the October of my twenty-sixth year. The house became mine. In the seven years since, I have kept it as she kept it. Not as a museum. It is a house I live in, use, and love.
But I keep it as something
