Her snail’s pace is patience, thrumming through the rooms where I try to exist.
It all happened in an instant, just like the lightning rush.
inches from the nowhere drain
the thought of it being anything other than a chair scares you.
Is every day perfect? Absolutely not. Is it good enough? Better than I expected, even? Yes. Yes it is.
You don't have to get dirt under your fingernails to be a good mother.
He's this whole entire other person and it's happened in secret.
like placing paper / to the flame.
be with them now; the rest can wait.
Put on your own oxygen mask first. Always.