You said something about the world ending today; how when you stepped on the curb, the concrete crumbled beneath you like a cracker.
Loneliness is a stranger with a spare key. She shows up unannounced, tracking in dirt and grime, and makes herself at home. She pours herself a glass of wine but doesn’t care to decant the bottle. She refuses to let things sit or settle but dwells on my couch or the chair in my office until the Cabernet spoils.