if you don’t know me, you would read these words and wonder how they fit into your life. the crevices they might fill. the jagged edges they might smooth. the ground they might till. or how they flit across the landscape and into the stratosphere without any sense of gravity.

if you know me well, you would read these words and wonder how the words fit into me. you’d trace a contour map with these lines, overlaying who you think i should be. in turns embarrassed and betrayed, you’d ask why i say such things, send such things into the world. all the while, my inner workings are exposed, naked to your judgement.

so i stay mum, my writing a dirty secret to those i love; i a dirty secret to those who read.

lunch at home. leisurely and sleepy. his jetlag still strong; he cranky. a shiny metal bowlful of pasta with cherry tomatoes, little cubes of creamy avocado. kitten paces back and forth between us along the edge of the table. we peruse the pamphlets and tickets from his trip: kawaguchiko, kachikachi yama ropeway, the bell in the sky. otomotachi ni oshiete ne!

White Kitty has been more talky and walky the last couple of days. a little less slip ‘n’ slide. he’s also been seen gently washing his face. hope swells again.

Kitten has been lonely today, lonely and restless; running after us and squeaking mews. doesn’t want to be held. instead he sleeps against my leg and under my desk, close enough to keep watch by touch.

late night meal at Teejay’s with Hordac and Peaches. steak and eggs, hashbrowns, strawberry pie at midnight. something we could be found doing twenty years ago, though we’ve lost some people and gained others. that we could be found twenty years later at the same old diner, not in nostalgia but as part of our everyday goings-on, is comforting. laughing over the same foods, reading the ingredients on the bottles of condiments, fighting over the check. feels like some things last forever.

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