What was on the wall that day.
My husband knows I prefer the heel of the bread. He saves it.
The diner waitress who called me hon when I was eight. Twenty-five years later I still go in. She still does. I'm still hon.
My friend texted me the song that always makes us laugh.
My partner takes my plate to the sink without being asked.
My therapist remembered the name of my dog from session one. I think about that often.
A small whoosh of warm air when I open the oven.
Crisp apples in October.
I can afford to tip generously again. That is everything to me.
A wood floor under bare feet in summer.
My oldest friend signed her letter, your friend always. She's seventy-four. I'm fifty-one.
The summer my brother and I dug a hole in the backyard. We were sure we'd reach China. We never told mom about the hole.
I have a dog who looks at me like I'm a particular kind of light.