My love and I wake in a new city.
Maybe a new country.

Either continental or café,
We enjoy a breakfast with good coffee
and pastries.
The chocolatiest of croissants,
The softest of scones,
and the warmest of waffles.

Then, we go for a walk.
We take our time to inhale the fresh air and
absorb the new city’s noises and
admire its unique architecture.

Our walk ends at a bookstore.
As we wander the shop’s aisles,
the bookstack we carry grows and grows and grows!
My love says, “Yes, of course we can buy them all.”
(We are not worried about the logistics of getting the books home.)
Once the stack is so high that
we can’t see over it,
we buy them all.

On our walk back to wherever-we’re-staying,
we make a pit-stop for takeout.
Most likely Chinese food, but
could be Korean or Indian or poke, too.

Next, but before dinner, is a warm shower.
Rich instrumental music with dissonant harmonies
and bubbly shampoo.
Fragrance-free body lotion and French skincare,
Followed by the baggiest of sweatpants and
an oversized tee.

Now all squeaky clean, my love and I eat dinner
over a grand adventure on a screen.
All snuggled,
we fall asleep before the credits roll.

I was eighteen in my public speaking class, introducing myself as a lioness with a shake in my throat.
She reminded me of my own strength when I needed her most:
When I was dissociating away from my high school relationship,
And dissociating into the arms of an abusive one.
When with ferocious presence I left, and I rebuilt.

When Roe v. Wade overturned and I’m on the phone with a man
He rants about how many women must be so angry,
But doesn’t hear how it made me feel.
When he tells me I’m just like my mother like that’s a bad thing,
With the lioness by my side, I left, and I rebuilt.

With the flesh of my former self between my teeth,
I destroyed and built again.
With the pain of my foremothers suffocated under my paws,
I destroyed and built again.
With screams and aches and roars I didn’t know I had buried,
I destroyed and built again and destroyed and built again.

The blood of self-love drips from my jaw.
The lioness and I are side by side and we are one.
We have found safety at last.

The best day is a slow day at work. The best day is the day that the sun is shining, but it’s not too hot outside. The best day is the first day the temperature drops in September. The best day is the day I can give my baby a kiss. The best day is the day I belly laugh with my best friends until my cheeks hurt. The best day is the day I give my mom a hug. The best day is the day I am loving and kind on purpose. The best day is the day without anxiety; the day I can breathe through it. The best day is the day I start a new book. The best day is the day I finish my new favorite book. The best day is the day I start knitting, and every day I get to since. The best day is the day I get to go on adventures with the people I love. The best day is going to the Atlanta Zoo with my oldest sister and our partners. The best day is that same day, at the zoo, when a lion made eye contact with me (I swear it’s true!). The best day is in Boston, watching the second oldest sister graduate from Harvard. The best day is reconnecting with extended family for the first time in a decade in Boston. The best day is the day I went to the Hozier concert, and I was physically connected to the music and the message more than ever before and everyone in the audience was crying and it was beautiful. The best day is the day I realized my chronic illness is teaching me how to stop and rest. The best day is the day my cat decides he wants to snuggle in my lap before bed. The best day is therapy day! The best day is the day I realized I am healing; my hard work is paying off. The best day is the day I let myself cry in front of someone else. The best day is the day I realize I’m as smart as I think I am and, yes, I can prove it to you. The best day is the day I decide to be brave. The best day is the day I do the brave thing.

I’m grateful for blue skies, warm sunshine, and a breeze that kisses the nose.
I’m grateful for green grasses and rushing creeks and bare feet.
I’m grateful for friends and lovers that grab you by the hand and dance with you.
I’m grateful for their consistent reminders, “You’re safe here. I love you.”
I’m grateful for the forehead kisses my love gives me,
And that he bends down to let me kiss his forehead right back.
I’m grateful for the safety of my home, and I’m grateful for a newcomer’s compliments,
“It looks like a gallery in here!” Thank you, the art is my favorite, too.
I’m grateful, especially, for the rabbit posed in play, a floppy handstand,
That’s been in our home longer than my memories. It’s one of my first ones.
I’m grateful for the way the sun shines into my mother’s bedroom just before sunset in spring.
It bathes the house in gold and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I’m grateful for the drums that echo in my chest at the concert in Alpharetta,
And the music that reverberates in my bones. I’m grateful to have a body that feels the music.
It’s exhilarating and soothing, an ecstasy I don’t need to swallow.
I’m grateful for cats with soft fur and who love love love ear scratches.
I’m grateful to my body and my brain for giving me the gift of sensation.
Even when it’s too much, or not enough, I’m grateful to be present to feel.