some things

Some things are perfect, I guess.

Never having eaten steak and taking the minibús instead of walking on a Saturday morning.

Me. A seedling. In a circle with beads that are hugged by knots. Rachel. A shelter. Mikaela. A fire in my pocket.

Some things are just perfect I guess.

Like mopping to TSwift and being a father to daughters. Like ceremonies of cacao and glitter in pockets. And Sarah.

Mornings in the wooden bed. A window and bright little flowers on the sill. La Mariposa and Indian food under umbrellas in the grass. Eva Luna. And my own words.

The three falls. A sports bra and shorts. I can’t push you in, but I try anyway. Shoulders and short hair. A model smile and Fanta in my face.

Some things are just perfect I guess.


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