The fireworks started, then mother's thunder lightning rain, then fireworks, more rain, and so on. I was writing in my dreams but when I woke up, nothing. It doesn't matter. I woke up thinking What's going to happen to all our things, our rocks, our art. People are a mystery. Everything we know and love is mystery. I hope we live as long as Olive, though. I don't want her to be alone again. We're not celebrating the forsaken country, we're mourning, in solidarity.