It feels awkward, suspicious to be someone of few opinions.
Ever so slightly so that it barely matters
My Grandma has Dementia, but somehow that’s done nothing for my own memory.
A fully alive, fully outstretched black person taking up as much space as they need is the most frightening black person, so be scary.
They just watched us get darker and darker, welcoming in the deeper glow, disgusted. But what could they do?