Old photos, of the old group.  So much has changed.  We barely know each other any more, if we ever even did.  It's okay.  That's not what's hard now.  It's other things changing, ending, which means other things are beginning, right?  I just don't know what they are. 

Grieving.  For things I barely understand.  Maybe if I looked at other things I'd be able to understand what's inside better.  Maybe the fear and the questions and the pain and the hope would make sense. 

Now it's a chaos of Philippians, Babel (mumford and sons), knitting badly fitting sweaters, writing fragments of a story, cooking, job searching, tea, lavender lotion, and other such oddments.  I don't know if it's working.  Time should tell.