Sublime

Eventually she begins to disappear into furniture, against walls, her bare ends blending into things like the end of a brushstroke. Perhaps this is the reason they begin to forget that she is there; they cannot find her edges, the parts of her to pull out from the background to identify her by. They walk past her, talk through her, and are surprise

all she ever wanted in this life was to find her freedom. But back in the prison doorway, waving the book in triumph, she knows. This is her freedom. This one. The freedom to be equal to the terrors of the day.

Inelegantly and without my consent, time passed.

shrink diagnosed her with emotional detachment disorder, which seemed like a stretch to Greta, who preferred to think of it as “poise” on a bad day, “grace” on a good one, and, when she was feeling full of herself, “serenity.”