I sit alone, crying, in projector light. The movie screen is blank, bright and white--a window into a Heaven I don't believe in. But I keep staring into bright wet light, searching for a familiar hand in emptiness, listening for a familiar voice in clatter static. Someone dead I used to know. Please, I want to begin before I'm done.
Before the stairwells grey. Before another calendar page is torn into oblivion.
Before snow overflows the mirror. From the inside out.