Holding you, sometimes,
doesn’t feel like pretending.
Putting the pots and pans in the cabinet
in any way that they’ll fit —
In disarray, an ugly display,
hidden behind a closed door.
We laugh when it shuts.
“That’s a problem for later.”
There are parts of us missing
that I’m too frail to inventory,
too fragile to name,
too naive to know.
As we pick through avocados
for tomorrow’s breakfast
and debate whether the milk at home is still good,
I see it peek out —
Peering, with a grimace,
a feeling that I wish I didn’t know.
It’s almost time.
So, in the aisle,
I smile.
I thank you for remembering we need more milk.
You push the cart,
unload the bags,
carry the groceries in.
We’ll curl up on the couch.
And we’ll both know.
I’m hoping neither of us ever finds the strength.
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 4:01 AM UTC
Holding you, sometimes,
doesn’t feel like pretending.
Putting the pots and pans in the cabinet
in any way that they’ll fit —
In disarray, an ugly display,
hidden behind a closed door.
We laugh when it shuts.
“That’s a problem for later.”
There are parts of us missing
that I’m too frail to inventory,
too fragile to name,
too naive to know.
As we pick through avocados
for tomorrow’s breakfast
and debate whether the milk at home is still good,
I see it peek out —
Peering, with a grimace,
a feeling that I wish I didn’t know.
It’s almost time.
So, in the aisle,
I smile.
I thank you for remembering we need more milk.
You push the cart,
unload the bags,
carry the groceries in.
We’ll curl up on the couch.
And we’ll both know.
I’m hoping neither of us ever finds the strength.
This moment, with you, is real.
You did nothing wrong.
