I never finished this post when I started it four years ago on the 6-year anniversary of my sister's death. I'm dusting it off to print now [9/13/16]:
I had a dream that Alice was at my mother's house. Alice and I had been working consciously on our relationship, struggling to work through our differences. I realize now that if we'd succeeded, we could have had much more fun. In my dream, the neighbor across the street looked young from behind. Alice and I were getting ready to do something together, and I was excited, and calm at the same time. The morning started out not tense. What a dream, indeed.
Then the day grew weary. At this point, I can't remember the other details. Such is my memory. And such is the unconscious mind. I include this scrap of a story as a means of keeping everything I have about Alice. I don't want to lose anything.
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