You clean the kitchen

I have this internal dialogue where “working dishwasher” stands in for anniversary, birthday, and Christmas gifts for years and years and years.

Never never let a thing supplant an I love you.

I know you have such good reasons to judge me. And probably some which will not hold the test of time, and I feel myself losing you.

When you were right about leaving notes. Or pictures. Like the one where you are just two or three and you have this tumult of curly hair.

You lean against me, looking contented.

And I know it was Christmas because I remember how much

Somethings hurt

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