Sitting in my dimly lit living room, I can see the sun set between the slatted blinds. My sweet enormous dog it splayed on the cool tile floor, taking long slow pants. It’s been warm. I slowly inhale the end of a left over joint. Lauren Hill spills out of the pathetic speaker on my phone. I alternate between a trail guide book, Ram Dass’ Still Here and Alice Miller. Long slow pauses of nothing make time feel funny. I feel alone in my finger tips, the ligaments in my elbows. It’s so strange to not have you here to touch. To collapse on the couch next to. Or to even just be with. The oscillating fan brings short bursts of I need a jacket and then a slightly longer pause that welcomes in the rolling tide of heat that encourages you to breathe deeper. You’re breathing. That’s good.