Like life you kept finding your way through my walls despite how many times I squashed you, nudged you onto paper to leave you out in the harsh winter air where confused you wondered what happened to the warmth of a home that once housed your body. The other day you looked at me as I was about to sweep you away. You crawled along the top of my couch, and when I approached you turned at me as if you knew what was coming. In a funny way you gave my days shape, consistency in my daily motions, meaning I am not creative in how I get rid of you from my empty apartment–always with guilt and remorse because you are there for me during my loneliest nights in the vents, hiding in the windowsill, always available like morning light to spring me from my longing, to wake me into something just beyond the outline I call my life.