July 1, 2012
Dipping an Oreo in milk, ready to call it a night. The next thing I know, something is simmering on the stove and I'm wrestling forks out of the dishwasher caddy, placing them back in the drawer. I wipe the counters clean, getting behind the coffee pot, before pouring the pasta into a bowl. Trying to imagine another clean night somewhere else. A time when things felt secure and ready for the next day. A time when I was alone, but okay with it. That was my apartment in Tampa. I miss the private patio--turtles swimming around the spray.