by Nola

I sit on the floor
Near a drafty door
Wondering why I haven’t
sat here before.

When I dated CS, I sat on his sofa in the den we now share listening to Cowboy Junkies as I read the titles to the books on his shelves and he prepared dinner for us. My heart expanded right-then-and-there knowing it’d found its place in this crazy world.

Now, these many years later, I sit on the sofa in that very room and I don’t think anything at all.  I Twitter and I knit; we talk and play with our daughter.  The luxury of quiet alone time is as foreign to us as a carnival parade to a Nebraskan.

Except sometimes, when the television is off and the light hits just right, and I sit someplace other than the sofa, like, say, the floor by the door, it all comes back, breaking like a wave on the beach, drenching me in its fullness.

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