Of a tired voice, being down one leche, and tricking myself into doing the dishes.

  1. Spice and vanilla and the crispness of waning light: the bittersweet scent of fall.
  2. I finally acknowledge the exhaustion in my throat and neck and voice, a strange tiredness after one song or one book read aloud that silences me, tissue swollen from who knows what. Together with a stress-clenched jaw, it paints a pretty metaphor, but I refuse to tease it out for fear of giving it life.
  3. Less coffee, more water; less sugar, more salt.
  4. By the time this is all over, I’ll be an expert.
  5. I’m sure I’ll flub it at first, but I think I’m ready.
  6. Tres leches. Well, dos leches and a bit.
  7. The first piece of real furniture—one we would have kept forever otherwise—scurries out the door with its new owner. It’s silly, but it feels more real now.
  8. The photo stops me completely. My scrolling, my breathing, my heart. Is that really him? Is that what he looks like? Didn’t I see him that way once before? How could I forget?
  9. Just wash the plates. Okay, just the bowls, too. The glasses. The sharp knives. (But that pot can wait.)
  10. How is it after 9 already? I have to shower. In the morning, I tell myself. For real this time.

Author: Ellie

Uppity stardust. Will eat (almost) anything.

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