It's open. Notebook fifteen. Unmarked. Fourteen of questions – zero of answers. That feels right, doesn't it? I can almost taste the acid black tea I forgot existed and that makes me think... starting over isn't quite right, it's more like beginning again from where you already ARE, the smudges and the spilled ink and the pages you wanted to tear out but didn't. It's all there, part of the new asking, and this time, maybe, the ghosts will answer back… or maybe just stop laughing.