Li,

It is, always, the small things that hold the most honest remembrance of what they once were. The dust motes floating through the late-morning sunbeam, the sound of the recycling truck’s old tires speeding away, a stranger’s laugh that ended too abruptly.

Background sound, for the most.

the half-spoken word I should have kept, the kindness given with a calculated motive, the door left ajar to invite an inconvenience.

If only I had the impulse, and there I say it with the less sense I could possibly make out of it, to let the convenient go, maybe something bigger would find me.