i'm standing right here

these women hold on to their men with such desperation.

there’s something about our steadfast simplicity: sautéed apples and buttered toast on saturday morning; the small indentation at the bottom of your sternum that reminds me we were once young;

our minimalism suits us. the time we spend makes me wonder why i give in—ever, much less often—to the impulse to try so hard.

i’ll read the paper by myself this morning, and it will be all it should. but it will take time, again, now, to be satisfied with what i’ve built for myself, without you.