In searching for more life, I found only what life was already here.
“The sun doesn’t shine in here past 11.” Always wanting more. “What I’d do for a south-facing window.”
I have started waking up to catch the sunlight filtering strategically over my plants. Seeing new shoots and leaves in the middle of winter is quite something. New life.
“You know what this reminds me of?”
“That time you showed me your favourite pokémon?”
“Oh, no. Which one, though, Espeon or Umbreon?”
“The pink one.”
“Ah, yes! Very glam, I love her.”
When confronted by death, how will you choose to die?
Every day we are confronted by death (small deaths) and every day we choose.
“I wouldn’t have asked to come over if I didn’t want to see you. . .”
“I didn’t let you in because I had to. You’re here because you asked.”
“I’m trying to figure out which way it’s best to put the beds,” I said, tracing different directions with my arms.
“Did you move here recently?”
“Mhmm, needed a bit of change. And it’s not too bad, eh?”
“I was gonna say. You could’ve told me you lived here for three years and I would’ve believed it!”
“Maybe. Time is weird,” I responded, suddenly anxious about 2021.
“Yes. . . Definitely,” he affirmed. “Oh, and turn the beds facing the window. It’s good for you, and it’s facing east which is even better. The sun will be the first thing you see every morning.”
“You’re so cute!”
“Why do you call me that?”
“‘Cause you’re cute. What should I call you instead–hot? handsome? dashing?”
“You’re so so so cute, it’s the truth. I don’t see another truth.”
“I don’t want to be cute.”
Material culture has cells, rhizomes and even sometimes mitochondria.
“I can’t see you past the fog on my windows, but I see you coming up the sidewalk. Should I come open the door?”
I can’t see myself past the fog on my windows.