My apartment is cold. I lie down on the couch facing away from the window and read. I feel the warmth of the sun through the window on the back of my head. Comforting. Sweet. Gentle. I turn my head to feel the sun on the right side of my face. I close my eyes. I see a color that reminds me of an unripe persimmon and my lips pucker. My neck begins to hurt so I turn my head to look forward. As I do so I hear the rustling of my beard against the fabric of my pillow. I immediately miss the warmth on my face but the regret is ameliorated by the tension fading from my neck. I place the book on my chest. I recall having coffee yesterday with my sister and father and uncle. I wanted to be left alone so it was comforting to be with familiars who care about me but never ask anything about my internal life. It’s funny how something that can be so sad and lonely can at other times be reassuring and comfortable. I look down at my feet and wiggle my toes to prove that they are still connected to me. I think about the things I should do today to feel better about myself. I wonder what I would want to do if I stopped worrying about feeling better. The word “wander” comes to mind. So I will put my shoes on, step out the front door and wander.


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