I see you scoff when I ask you about your day, too tired to explain events that seem trivial to you. And yet, I pester you, asking you to share it all, to talk about all those colleagues whose name I hear and whose faces I picture, constructing them pixel by pixel with what you tell me about them, agreeing with what you feel about them.

You once told me that people change based on what happens to them. I'm trying hard to follow you through your day, to look at your life, to see how it looks from your own pair of eyes, because I'm afraid to let go. I don't want to be disconnected from what you change into.