for the searching
Slow, searching stories about meaning, time, and feeling small at night.
I went looking for a receipt and a whole year fell open. There you are, June, squinting at the sun.
I tried to remember what I did last Tuesday and couldn't. The whole week folded into one beige afternoon, and I started counting backward.
Half past two, cold floor through my socks, standing in the kitchen I came down to for no reason at all.
I found my phone from six years ago in a drawer and plugged it in just to see if it would wake up.