one is the strength to give up lucidity to stay awake with my arms around my pillows
one is my need to chew on feelings and letters that I feel too blurry to scrape into words
one is your goodness and my suspicion that
no one can possibly be that good
one is 20 minutes there and 26 minutes back,
going slower on the return because leaving is always harder than being pulled forward
one is this bucket of qualms that bite me and burn me till I'm admitting my fears and shrinking away
one is my lack of a two person tent and the talent of knowing where to put my cold hands
chins up we still have the night to make our blinks slow
and the edges are so far away, we've got room to run