I’m sitting in the dark and the Earl Grey is stone cold, basically a petri dish for bacteria at this point.

I just looked up and realized my tea is stone cold and the sun went down hours ago—

I sit on this cold hardwood floor every night because his hips can’t make it onto the rug anymore.

I’m sitting on the floor of my parents' old place surrounded by dust and those heavy floral curtains that haven't been washed since 1994.