She always liked grilled cheese sandwiches, the gooey melt of them, the buttery crustiness. Today, when she bites into the one I just made for her, her mouth turns down. She purses her lips. "What's the matter?" "Nothing." "Not hungry?" She's never hungry…

Her fever spreads through lines of a plaid mini, over burnt milk, darkened to yellow. Fingers explore fabric folds up and into the lost dimensions of logic.