There is a hand on my shoulder in the shower while I wash myself. 

I like the south facing windows, I can see the spot where the sun will be before it is there in the deepening sky. Light breaks me open down the middle. 

Cat, dog, and human hair coating the underside of my socks. I’ve taken to wearing slippers. Peppermint tea in the morning with cream and honey. 

I feel disorganized, what fills me up has gone slack, when I try to make sense of the months before this. 

The people I have been with in this bed are here with me now. Isn’t that odd? Does it make your skin crawl? 

I let the day go dark around me and I do not turn the lights on. 

Taken to resting inside tugging bouts of nostalgia: the yellow bowl of my youth, lunaria seed pods, the handwritten note you wrote me on the corner of a ripped paper bag. What I know now, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 

When Matt Berninger sings “Oh the glory of it all was lost on me,” I unfurl unto myself and I sob. 

I cannot figure love, in its wrinkles nor its rays. But I have this pink comfort, a dog to lick my hand.