"I felt inspired to get this for you," she said, stretching her arm across the wooden table to hand me a little square paper bag. Velvety gray with silver writing on it, representing the jewelry store where it was from—elegance was its name. My heart skipped a beat. "What? For me?"
Dear Pop. My relationship with you, perhaps, has been complex in a different way than it was with mom, who was severely ill for seventeen years until she passed.
These days I am taken aback by beauty. I’d been working on graduating criticism in my mind. A little here and a little there; until today. I am discovering what that old mode of operation is about to be replaced with…
