Someone close to me smells like her; I can't identify the person. Only the nuance of the scent reveals itself as the stagnant air moves about this institutionalized lecture hall. There are far too many people in this room to discern its owner, anyhow. What's more, I'm altogether certain this matters little to you, yet somehow I find myself writing concise excerpts of thought these days. There are pages upon pages piling up, and I wonder, Will anyone ever read any of this?