Puppies and kittens, tumble and play Little bellies, tiny paws, day after day Butterflies float, in leisure Paths, they soar and glide.

Books of all kinds, vines on the shelves In the crevices, the corners - breathes That they take to keep the Shelves alive They smell of freesia, roses, and honey Suckle, bees suckling on pollen, No fear of a sting anywhere.

If you walk down the path, a little Ways down, there is a local shop Where you can buy chocolate, gummies And booze of every kind. Is paradise not The absence of need, every.single.one fulfilled? What do you need retail therapy for, they say?

“Because I’m Rich and I finally can.”

Everyone rides a bike, rolling down Memory lanes and up their boulevards. Not a creature or plant grows without Your hands. assisting, touching Lifting them up. We are all essential. Rotating schedules, so every gets a turn To serve the others only once a year.

Hot bubble baths and wagyu steaks for dinner - fresh sushi, fried chicken, And Roasted duck. Quail eggs, turkey bacon Pork sausage, and cheesecake pancakes For breakfast. What about budgets, they say?

“Because I’m Rich and I finally can.”

Family lives next door, therapy is mandatory. Kindness is Law, stop it with the toxicity Already it is time to sit down together. To break Bread and generational curses. This world Is incapable of existing without the love and respect of the past, good or bad. All hatred is outlawed I am at peace with my history, accepting of The present, enthused for the future.

“Don’t you think this is a bit much,” they say?

“Because I’m Rich and I finally can.”

“So, ahem, this is it huh?”

“Yep”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another. The inside of her mouth was starting to get a bit raw from where she chewed it.

“Well, you know, good luck. I mean, I- I have a lot to do here anyway so.”

“Sure. Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Silence. His hands are paused on the suitcase. Like they are waiting for more.

“There’s plenty to do around here! Not that you ever helped me at all.”

“Goodbye Cyn.”

“Ughhh! Fine, just - just go! Leaving me to clean up the mess like always.”

“Cyn - “

“No, really, it’s fine. I mean, of course, since the judge gave you the go ahead, not that it was much of a debate anyway, seeing as how him and your dad get together for golf every other week or so.”

“Cynthia.”

“I mean the lawyer i could afford was only fresh out of law school. But what’s that matter when it’s ONLY a legal separation right? Pshh, it’s whatever. Temporary my ass. It’s not like we’re dividing our shit yet and selling the home I’ve lived in for the last 15 years -“

“Cynthia!”

“You go to England and have a good, dandy old time. I’m sure , ha! - I’m sure your boss will LOVE having you there, he’s only asked US to relocate at least once a year since you started the damn job, and -“

A loud thud pierced the room. Brian was standing by the door. His hands were clenched, and his face looked like he was about to explode at any second.

“I’ll stay.”

“Come again?”

“I said I’ll stay.”

“Brian I’ve told you about whispering-“

“I said I’ll STAY Cyn.”

A moment passed between them. And then -

“Oh Brian! really?”

“Yeh - ahem - yeah. Yes”

“Oh honey! This wonderful! What made you change your mind? I can’t wait to tell the girls not to come. Because, you know, I had invited them over to help me clean, and stuff, but this is much better! I’ll get my purse”

“Purse?”

“Yeah, we’re going shopping right? Hahaha! I mean, you kind of have to in order to make it all up to me! I heard the new Louis Vuitton just hit the shelves. Oh thank you so much honey! Mwah!”

The sounds of her footsteps leaving the room barely registered in Brian’s mind. He waited for the silence to completely settle, alone with the weight of his decision to sink in.

Then he followed her, and shut the door.

Your feet drag themselves. They are mechanical motions creaking toward a destination. But it’s not their job to think of where to go. Your brain “remembers” in the way you remember to breathe. To chew. To blink. Your heart is steady. Appreciating a warm shower comes from this organ. After dinner, and a shower, your eyes start to drift in front of the tv. You’ve turned it down to the lowest volume setting. You hate loud noises at night…. And next thing you know, your alarm goes off to do it all over again.

Dad used to love the rain. I thought to myself as I waited for the bus, my butterfly rainboots pinching my big and middle toes.

I checked my watch. Three more minutes to go. This bus was usually on time, but then again the rain might slow it down. There was a short Hispanic lady with her young son on the other side of the bus stop. He had a coat on, but she didn’t. It made me smile to look at them, him leaning on her as they slowly became soaked under the minimal glass cover. Reminded me of my dad, long before the stress of his new job had started to turn his hair gray and the cigarettes increased from 1 pack to 2 packs a day.

Still smiling as I reminisced, the mother sensed that I was staring and she glanced at me. Boldly, she didn’t look away, but she did scoot farther to the end of bench, eyes narrowed in distrust. Realizing I was making her uncomfortable, I stared down at my jeans, and not for the second time this evening since I got out of my late night grad class, I wished for a car that I couldn’t afford yet. It was times like these that I tried to practice the visualization techniques that my yoga teacher taught every Monday and Wednesday. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember my father’s happy disposition every time it rained. He would tilt his head back towards the sky, his hair soaked to the point it looked like black ink. Whenever it was nights like these, he even slept better towards the end, when the chemo was no longer doing anything to help his lungs, and the doctors just told us to make him as comfortable as possible. I would put “rain sounds” on repeat from YouTube, and he’d fall right to sleep until one day he didn’t wake up anymore.

It was these memories that helped past the time until the bus grudgingly pulled up in front of us, it’s wheels gliding with the puddles instead of forcing their way through.

I wanted to offer the woman and her son umbrella, but they’d probably just think I was creepy. My shoulders were hunched from the cold, my favorite boots that made my toes pinch in a dull agony. And besides, I needed it just as much as they did. I was about to board the bus after them when the strong wind turned it upside down, and forced it out of my hands. I jumped after it where it landed a few more feet. At some point, I tripped in a puddle, and when I picked myself up, the bus was gliding away.

“Hey!” I screamed, but the driver trudged along, ignoring me. I clenched my fist, my head down, until a clap of thunder made me look up, and it was there that I saw something which made me freeze. A skeleton stood before me, it’s eyes sunken in, my umbrella in its hand. It wore a heavy black coat, and a white scarf that covered it’s mouth. It’s eyes looked almost glassy, but the whiteness of the skull stood out against the dark contrast of the jacket. My breath became shallow and I was sure my heart skipped several beats. I swallowed, and I screamed at myself to run, but frozen with fear. No sound escaped my mouth. It wasn’t until the Skeleton raised its hand that I saw a butterfly in its left hand. Its electric blue wings flapped leisurely, as if it was a beautiful summer day instead of a dark and stormy night. My breath escaped me in a sharp gasp, and my hands flew to my mouth.

The Skeleton didn’t say a word.

I slowly lowered my hands and whispered, so softly I could barely hear myself. “Dad?”

A moment passed and I was sure the Skeleton hadn’t heard me, but just as I was about to lift one boot of the ground, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and in the blink of an eye, the Skeleton was gone.

My umbrella was still in the middle of the street, but it looked like it was back to normal.

I slowly bent to pick it up. You’re just shaking from the cold, I told myself, and started the long walk back home.

Sometimes, you have to treat people with a long handled spoon

But no one ever said how long What is “long” compared to “short” An inch ? A foot? A kilometer?

How do we measure the distance of attachment from within ourselves

She can fuck and still not give a damn But he can’t take the rejection unless he blocks you on

Social media - which is the metric of attachment all at the tips of your finger.

To measure the distance between your piece of mind and the peace of your heart Is the soft white underbelly - The down and the dirty When treating people with a long handled spoon

“This is my bed, go away” His eyes, peaking from the covers, they say.

Then he comes in to snuggle And my heart is kerfuffled.

It took me a long time to realize, and own, the fact that “no” is a full sentence. If I liked the person asking, I would add “no, thank you” at the end, but if it was their second or third time asking me the same question, then I’d stop being polite. Carla was in this second category of people. Don’t get me wrong, I liked Carla, but she could be a little pushy about things she thought she was right about. Like that time we were standing in line at the cafeteria, and she didn’t even realize the look of annoyance on the lunch lady’s face when she said,” you know, you really should get more rest, and because of labor laws, they can’t make you work overtime like this.” By the third time it was the middle of the second semester and we were waist deep in papers and lab reports, and I had to bite back my “I told you so” when the woman finally responded “look, do u want your food or not? I got 2 kids to feed and that stuff may work for you but I can’t afford to be out of a job.” The look on carlas face was an odd mixture of shock and embarrassment, and I could see her pale cheeks turn tomato red. Truthfully I identified more with the lunch lady than her, my lab partner. I remember I had to work at Burger King for a summer once my mom cut off my allowance at 18. Sure, I probably should not have been working that much overtime but I wanted the money to make a new dress and to buy myself and my little siblings as many tacos as We wanted. And reporting them to the labor board was a sure fire way to get fired. Thought it had been 5 years since The Lunch Lady Incident, the next time Carla Plendeski asks me “but it’s so great up there. Space travel has lots of benefits. My last ship captain said that it helps expand your lung capacity, is great for your skin, and great for fitness because you literally have no weight. You would love it, and it’s really cheap if we book together,” I am most likely going to lose my shit and tell her exactly why no one else in the Lab 201 will partner with her.