I’m writing this down only to remember
TFW
Showering doesn’t matter,
I wear sweat and coffee breath and leave my scalp oily.
Don’t need to get a run in.
My husband’s dillying at the farmer’s market doesn’t annoy me – I could debate over cherry tomatoes for days.
Sex is uncomplicated and not guilty.
Company comes over and I’m proud of our messy home–proud of exactly who we are with our folding chairs and sections of newspaper scattered on the crooked rug.
I’m not constantly hungry.
The volume of the music is just right.
I am home.
I know how my Dad must have felt, when he gave up his day job to start writing.
Like something had been unlocked, or flooded with light.
Liz Stork is a civil rights lawyer and writer who lives in Brooklyn. She likes writing about the heavy stuff because it makes it easier to carry.