Sweetie, I’m afraid I have no more figs. I have no more coconut. I have misplaced the dishes, my favorite cups. I stopped searching for my missing sock. I’m going to convince you argyle doesn’t matter anymore.
I don’t want—
No, that’s not right.
I don’t need answers. I only need one. An answer smooth like spring skin: bright and light and smart. An answer willing and expected like milk after chocolate. Something to share, to hold, to eat.
But Sweetie, the figs are gone, the coconut is dry. And you need me and I need you like milk after chocolate and skin in spring and jumping in the ocean when we find it.