I Am Everyone’s Place To Put Things, And Some Days I Don’t Know Where To Put Myself

Dear Delyara, Objects, feelings, questions, moods, forgotten items, practical problems, worries, timings, food, decisions, the whole domestic weather — all of it seems to move through me eventually. And I know that is part of love. I know it. Still, there are days when I can feel the imbalance of it so strongly that it almost knocks the breath out of me. Everyone has somewhere to bring things. Where do I bring mine? That is the question under so much of my tiredness now. Not only what I carry. Where I place it. And too often, if I’m honest, the answer is nowhere clean. So it stays in the body instead. In the shoulders. In the jaw. In the tears that arrive over fruit and forms and towels and messages that were never really about themselves.