the cat ate it

I spoke to Jenae on the phone tonight. she told me about her week and how much she loves her family. it’s been nearly two months since she left the city now, though it’s felt much longer. she spoke about people feeling like home. I thought about how this place felt a lot more like home when she was around. she asked about me and made space for me to respond. Jenae listens with a want to understand rather than respond for the sake of conversation. hearing her voice makes the night a little warmer. her kindness makes me feel like I deserve to take up the space I occupy. her love helps me forget how small and insignificant I feel in my own company.

my grandma called to ask for an address Dad told me he’d scribed for her twice. she’d lost the paper and spent all day looking. I told her the cat told me he’d eaten it.

I play with silly ideas like dominoes in my mind. mostly chaotic hypotheticals. mostly products of boredom and a fear of being still. I toy with ghosts and write unruly alternatives to the way things went. their voices long forgotten, faces all too familiar - still branded to the walls inside my head. a skull full of haunted memories I refuse to bury. I play with the past and hide from today.