Then there is the second wave: when his sterile email eminates hostility like a curse, when our mutual friends avert their eyes. Every other moment in my home reveals one more thing I need to put in a box and return: the tapestry on my couch, the pannier on my bike, a toothbrush, a promise. I wonder how long I'll be turning up these artifacts, how long each one will shatter everything, everything at all, for a moment.


I take refuge in the world, in the cottontail that I startled in the park today, who bounded a ways away then turned to watch me as I watched him. The bluejay that swept past me on his way to someplace important. The slant of morning light in shower steam. I am trying not to run away, as much as I am trying not to languish. This is a pain that deserves feeling. But for the sake of sanity, it is worth my time to remember that I also love the world.