I'm sitting in my fluffy white girlie bed in my apartment in the Hill Country Galleria. I have my windows open overlooking the walking trail. It's about 68 degrees out there and the sound of the cars whizzing down Bee Cave Parkway sounds strangely comforting.
Daddy's Crested Butte painting hangs above my bed as my headboard. Haji Baba the horse silhouettes my wall of windows. Phil's paintings surround me with their spirits watching over, looking forward and reaching up.
I realize I no longer have a heavy feeling in my chest. My head is not cluttered. My heart is not racing. I'm breathing normally and without thinking about it. Is this what they call "calm"? It's a very unfamiliar feeling and I like it a lot.
