I’m like that woman sitting on the floor with her hair in her hands, her expression that of a lost baby, sifting through photo albums of the past and present and future, her thoughts screaming in confusing frustration. She does not know where she is, neither can she guess where she is going. She knows not who she is, only has impressions of who she was, and of who she might perhaps be someday. But she knows not when. She’s stuck in a tidal wave. No forward or backward or sideward. No direction. She’s just waiting for the wave to wash her ashore. But this waves seems endless and eternal. She has no choice but to go with it; floating drowning. Toppling, tumbling, trying to carve out a way through the wave. She lifts her hands to separate the waves, the floorboards are solid.