and we go away tomorrow,
so i'm still up, eating slightly sour cottage cheese.
and she's twenty years of snow falling,
twenty years of strangers looking into each other's eyes.
and the cat knows i'm leaving,
and he patrols with a pet lip and pads heavier than usual.
and we go away tomorrow so there's no bread,
and i'm eating ryvitas that smell like woodwork class,
and they're nice.