1.25.03 – over breakfast

it’s eleven am, we’re standing in the kitchen, pajama-ed and barefoot, making freezer hash browns and scrambled eggs. where would you be right now if we hadn’t moved in together? i ask suddenly, as a vision of an alternate-self flashes before my eyes, unbidden. probably living at our respective parents’ houses, was the joint conclusion. i look around and we’re surrounded by our house: items filched from parents’ garages and our own apartments and garage sales that are already losing their possessives: it’s not my garlic press or your cat anymore, it’s the garlic press, our cat. i think how professionally barren i’ve felt these past few weeks, then i look out the window at the neighbor’s cats and i realize that we’ve been busy building a life together.