10/22/2026
There is a version of me
I keep promising I’ll come back to.
When the days are less full,
when the nights are less broken,
But the years keep passing,
and I keep moving myself
to the bottom of the list.
I have learned the shape of their needs
better than the shape of my own.
I know what comforts them,
what makes them laugh,
what they reach for in the dark.
But
I wonder
when I stopped
knowing those things about myself.
So I’ve begun collecting
little moments that belong to me.
A finger dipped in paint,
Gliding over a canvas for just me
An afternoon with nothing to show for it.
And it felt pretty damn good.