I have no doubt that if there is a God, He’d take long naps on the foot of the bed, know full well how to beg, and that He’d want to be little spoon sometimes in the morning.
When you’re sick, isolation becomes comfortable. You make jokes when you watch yourself fail.
I’ll say this to you once because this is a mistake painted black and the brushes should never come out again.
The cycle stops here. The midnight gang wars played out in households ends with you.
We go to work.
We come back home.
This is our October comfort.