Two fingers. One biscuit. No home (yet)

Was it bad news?
I don't think so.


I had thought-yup, bad news.
Now I sit and sit
with possibilities that may mean more.

Woken up by a phone call. Was it bad news?
I thought so.

Friends came.
My boss cheered me up. He offered me chocolate eggs in dusky, pale shades and poured me tea and went through some options, as an Italian man I had only half met once before proffered advice
of some kind. Well meaning, I smiled anyway. He had a red tie on that brightened the drizzle.

I felt listened to, and then more ears and more hearts and a tomato juice instead of a gin and hugs and a friend in a hat with ears and it all feels so much more do-able now.

I was about to kick the bucket. Can I hear fireworks?
I refuse to give up. Too close, too soon...
I will find a home!
I will. Yes.

Tears for about thirty seconds. Cut!

Two white feathers on my desk, a pink cup and a cat with muddy paws who likes to climb all over my life.
I like him there, and here.
He is still coming with. Even if I have to hide him in a teapot. Or a sock. A big, cashmere sock.

If only I could stop eating everything in sight. If only all the rye bread was your kiss, if only all the cocoa was just clouds in our Spring sky..
a girl and a boy laying underneath the view, taking all the breath around us in.