“Obviously.”
I looked at the wooden ruler on my desk.
I had brought the broken halves with me.
Danny had made me promise not to glue them back together.
“Thanks.”
“Come home Friday.”
“I have studying.”
“Saturday.”
“I’ll see.”
“Marianne.”
“Fine. Saturday.”
I came back.
Of course I did.
The box sits on a shelf above my desk now.
The bird.
The key.
The broken ruler.
The piano.
The book.
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The house.
Every object says something I probably should have figured out myself.
The sparrow reminds me that the oldest version of me still exists somewhere.
The key reminds me to say things.
The ruler reminds me that numbers are useful right up until I let them decide my worth.
The piano reminds me that being imperfect at something is not the same as being bad at it.
The book reminds me I am allowed to go.
