If one were to adhere to the somewhat cliche saying of 'life's like a book', there'd be a bookmark on the day of my grandpa's funeral. It'd be a piece of paper, torn from the house intended for grandpa to dwell in the afterlife. This short is dedicated to traditions that are part of who I am, but has always escaped the grasp of my understanding; to the punctures in my memories, like the one I left on my grandpa's paper house by accident, on that bookmarked day.