Night sweats at 1:00 am.

3:30 am.

Maybe it’s the full moon. Thirteen today.

He runs up to tell me that my cocktail is on the front page of Apple news. That’s a way to start the morning.

Frost on the course. Sun turning the burned trees gold.

Double the batter to make three layers instead of two. Lots more strawberries. How do I still not have a cake stand?

I tell her that the store looks different. She says it’s because she doesn’t own it anymore. This makes me sad. I can’t remember what I bought last time, but I remember the door being dark and full. A book store for book lovers, not book readers. I want the old store back.

Overwhelmed by its beauty. I want to touch every little thing. I want to see every little thing. I tell her that the store is so beautiful it makes me want to cry. Which is something that probably sounded strange. But you can feel that this is a space of an artist. I want to go back.

There is potential here.

Giggles around the table. Thirteen. Sushi. Strawberry torte for dessert. Thirteen.

The moon and her stars. I am a star. The star is me. Everything is one.