A week ago, my husband climbed into bed in the middle of the night and the box spring finally gave out with a giant crack! The next day we trudged through Home Depot, trying to find a fix for the bed only to get home and realize just how mangled the thing was. Our solution, for now, has been to lower the box frame and the mattress right onto the floor, still nestled in the bed frame. Everything is eight inches closer to the ground. Eight precious inches that we didn’t know mattered until they were gone.
After is like the first day in my new bed: the way I had to get used to the view from here. There is a little less of the trees we were so used to. There is a little more of the sky.
And last night, yes, last night I dreamed. Not of her but of circles. Endless wreaths of huge pink flowers. Climbing vines and papery petals. Waxy leaves and tiny buds.
So I walked to the store at lunchtime and filled my arms with flowers. Tried to build my way back to higher ground. Circles, all of them, everywhere.
We go around. We come back again.
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