I could not bear to read it until I knew it had passed: did not want to see what errors I had hastily missed. The file sat, dormant, on my computer, while the hard copies (I imagine) were handed between offices, also dormant except for snatched moments when my qualified judges filled boxes. In bed, rejecting the impossible potential of my library, I re-read my words, their new status altering how I perceive them. Turning the page quietly under the lamp, while she breathes beside me, I pause to decide how I will inscribe this autobiographical memory in my collection.