From Chicago, with love

It's just after midnight here, and I'm neither awake nor sleepy. Kind of in between the two. I'm sitting in Ama's condo, hair wet with the AC on. From the dining table I can hear the faint ticking of her kitchen clock. From her bedroom, I can hear her snoring.

Ama is our family's rock. I don't think I've ever seen her angry, not even the slightest bit. She always finishes each sentence with a low chuckle (I get it from her), and although she isn't a woman of many words, she knows how to carry a conversation. She is ever patient, generous, and loving, and I don't know how she does it. More than nine years have passed since Grandpa passed away. She was strong then, and she is even stronger now.

I don't really know where this post is going. Kind of parallel to my life right now.
A mumbled, jumbled sort of mess.

Who spends all their time dreaming of life, and love, and things that are barely out of reach with no grasp to reel them in? You never know until you try, but if you try, will you know?

Messes are okay. You just have to clean them up.