I've learned, over the past few weeks, that I am not the person I think I am. In great distress, I simply disintegrate. I disintegrate so quickly, so thoroughly, that what's left is a shadow of the person who came before--a delusional shadow fading into an already dark wood, listening for ghosts.

The shadow thinks up all sorts of nonsense.

"This happened because we relaxed. Because we stopped thinking, worrying, fretting. Because we were calmer. Because we had a nice moment. Because we laughed."

Then: "This is because the mirror broke."

Then: "This is because I said that thing out loud."

I don't know anything anymore. I pray in a language I've forgotten. I pray in whatever fractions I can recall--three words here, five words there. I wait. I pray again. 

I believe.