I am all the things I have ever loved:
Being warm. Being dry. Blankets. Hugs.
Spaghetti. Red sauce. Long noodles twirled around my fork.
My Little Ponies. Inspector Gadget. She-Ra. Rainbow Brite.
Kitties. Hide and Seek. Memory Games. Scavenger Hunts.
Outside and playing Lost Girls.
The soothing sound of the water. Warm sand between my toes.
The tall thin boy a year older than me whose gaze I could never meet.
Emo. Scream-o. Basement shows.
Goodwill. Messenger bags. Home-made patches. Safety pins.
Eyeliner. Ball-chain necklaces. Cuffed jeans.
Adam. Pot. House parties.
Summers in Door County. Beach days. Sue's magnificent breakfasts.
Driving around in cars.
Adam. Walks in the woods. Fractals.
Late night omelets. Roommates evolving into friends.
Freedom. My black Honda Civic. Quick drives to Madison.
The Irishman with a quick temper but an unparalleled generosity.
Travel. New experiences. The thin line between strangers and friends.
White rice. Steamed. With soy sauce.
The brief summer with a tall skinny representation of wanderlust.
That infectious laugh.
Beers and food television. Video games. Late nights at bars.
Grilling a tenderloin on a Madison rooftop.
Getting kicked out of training for playing Minesweeper too loudly and giggling too much.
My car again. Road trips. Couch surfing.
The Playa. The West Coast.
The week with a boy who blew glass and brought home organic juice.
Philz. The Golden Gate. Carousel rides with a boy from the Midwest.
Huelo feet. Tiki Hut. Sundays on Little Beach.
That same boy and camping roadside. Walking up a volcano.
Selling everything and island hopping in Asia.
Being warm again. Being lost.
San Francisco. Diversity. Culture.
Josh. Then Goober. Then Logan.
Creating a home. Neighbors. Neighborhood.
23rd Produce. Duc Loi. Sun Fat Seafood.
Basa. Radish. Yamo.
Support. Family. Phamily.
Netflix. Rainy day excuses to do nothing.
A rack full of wine. Cooking while listening to my favorite songs.
Lazy Saturdays reserved for writing.