Work ends but the dishwasher is struggling so I decide to help him finish. He asks me about the girls that I loved so I begin describing the architecture of their laughter. I smile as I mop the floor telling all the stories that still feel good, I end, half talking to him, half talking to myself. I sigh and say, "It's in the past". He stops washing, looks me dead in the eye and says, "You know the best thing about the past is that it will always be with you". And for the first time in a while I remember that I am completely full, fully blessed, and blessedly cared after. I remember that even stories take up space.
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