Today was one of those days with stuttered frames. The story passage out of sync with the scenery. It was a gorgeous bluebird day as I drove through my winding island roads and struggled to parse my emotions.

I listened to Motel 6 by River Whyless— their crooning lyrics filling the empty space. I imagined a scene where I felt the chorus speak to me.

“I've spent my whole life moving
I've spent my whole life on a road
From a dream I'm waking up
And for the first time
I'm terrified of waking up alone”

There wasn’t a dream to wake from here. No lovesick heartache— but another kind as I sifted through childhood memories as I replayed the beginning of my morning. I woke to a text from my sibling saying, “Can you call me?”

Our aunt had passed away earlier in the day, and they wanted me to know. There’s a strange matter-of-factness to it—the snap of a book closing— simultaneous and drawn out in a disorienting mix.

I sat in my car outside my usual bakery spot as I listened to music— not sure quite sure what I should be doing. The ebb and flow of sadness mirrored the tides as I ghost-walked through my half-scripted plans for the day.