- I make hummus in the dark and write my soul a reminder that it’s different now. It’s okay to falter in my vulnerability when faced with an old trigger. It no longer has power; I’ve taken it back.
- The heat is a welcome embrace on my bare arms and legs after the chill of the last few days. I soak it up as if I could store it up for the coming winter.
- We say goodbye with gifts and letters and hugs but no tears. It’s not that kind of relationship (though it should be). I whisper prayers of thanks as we walk home for the final time, grateful for the years of solace and community, and close the chapter.
- I’m developing a great appreciation for things that are nice as they become more scarce in a world saturated with the politics of pain.
- Ring around the rosy.
- Hurricane-force wind leaps from still skies, driving white sheets of rain sideways across the city. I think of Florida as she sits inside the open back door and watches and listens and sings to the storm.
- I would’ve chosen by fear before. This time, I choose by love.
- I’ve grown enough to ask the question, “What am I actually hungry for?” but not enough to know the answer.
- Bedtime, dishes, cat, trash, laundry, jammies, ablutions, cat again, noticing. Waiting.
Of welcoming a hot flash (not mine), appreciating the nice, and questioning hunger.