She looked over at me in that way. We were having dinner with some family friends. The hot summer day was finally a temperature we could tolerate. The sun twinkling through delicate leaves just beyond the window. She's eating less now, I've noticed. She always watched what she ate. As children, when she made a mistake, as a punishment we'd tease her that she couldn't have salad for a week, as if salad was her honey pot. but this is different. I know it's a symptom, but every symptom is so quietly apparent, a slithering gas leak slowly moving nearer. One more bite.
It just keeps ticking. A machine in constant disarray, moving so fast you can't tell if it's speeding up or slowing down. The distant hum of steel to concrete, drowned out by bluetooth conversations, and bustling cars. A rollercoaster moving so fast you can only focus on the blurs of color as they pass you by. Look at it. Look at it hard. Concentrate. Try to follow one blade on the ceiling fan as it circles and circles and circles. As soon as you catch it, it's already gone again. Concentrate.