The dementia train seemed to stop for a while, or at least had slowed down, often taking those sharp corners slowly, rounding the bends with ease and going through the deep dark tunnels with the sense that the light at the end is still bright. It had seemed to be stable, as if the dementia was not progressing. Well, not completely, but as if I would – or could – beat it. It seemed I could prevent the onslaught of those bloody Dementors, but they do continue to suck away at my soul, making sure I have to work even harder to constantly restore the ever emptying shell. Small events, turning into mini tsunamis, my mind and will not always able to regain proper perspective, nights awake wondering and worrying about conversations and events; paranoias and compulsions. Conversations full of promise and meaning, not fully remembered, or partially misunderstood, rendering my mind to mush, my soul with apprehension. Lounging by the pool, a lazy swim, a book at hand, and tear drops in my eyes. My train is moving (again).