Baking Bread

Tonight our street smells like bbq and burning wood. We try to guess what the neighbors are cooking like we’re on a game show

I’m getting to know my parents again like two long lost friends, maybe you understand

I can hear the tiny kids with the half pipe three doors down except they’re much older now playing Drake til 11pm while I turn down every switch in the house

Goodnight to my oversized desk

rows of trophies dipped in dust

my nightstand with the jagged drawers Thanks for showing me the light

The days are melting maybe we should turn the stove down, slow the pace from the inside out. I still don’t feel like baking bread

Friends and strangers going live again as a way to feel alive maybe

Tonight it feels good to leave my phone in the other room, let the cold air rush in like a tidal wave, making new where the old used to be