I stare up at the ceiling.

Will their antennae touch? Will one shrink back? Which one will continue on its path?

He walks in to let me know that today, I forgot to wake him up at 6am. I tell him that I’m sorry; I got carried away.

I add more books to the cart. I just can’t help myself. Also, she is a voracious reader, just like her mother, and without a library, I can’t keep up.

I haven’t heard any of his sneezes today.

How much of this is true? How much of this is my imagination? How much of this is just the phase of the moon?

I pull the rose off the tree with just my hand. A fistful of purple petals. I scatter them on the ground. I am not sure what I planned to do with them. I just felt the need to hold the flower in my hand.

The two of us swinging in the hammock. The other two chatting beside us. Sun and shadow.

Meeting strangers on the internet.

I realize that maybe it’s just birthday anxiety. Perhaps I am more afraid of aging than I thought.