notes from somewhere in middle america

Proximity. It all comes down to this. When we are tired and sharing a bed too small to hold the directions our lives have taken us. I spend my time awake. Listening to the sounds of his breathing and staring into the darkness. Wishing there was more room. Wishing for different spaces. So crowded and so alone in the same moment. Wrong and right. Necessary and unforgivable. Like a tightly wound scarf in winter.