Lately, Everything Feels Like You

Love walks in like it’s always lived here— barefoot, unapologetic, dragging sunlight across the floor like a blanket it refuses to fold. It opens all the windows at once, laughs too loud in the quiet moments, starts naming the plants even though they’re probably going to die anyway. Love doesn’t ask permission. It rewrites the furniture layout, puts your favorite song on repeat and says, “This one. This one forever.” It leaves tea rings on the table. It kisses your shoulder in passing. It forgets the umbrella but remembers your laugh exactly, as if it were carved into its palms. Love is not careful. It overwaters the basil. It cries during commercials. It texts you at 2 a.m. just to say: I couldn’t sleep. I thought of your face. It’s ridiculous. It’s relentless. It is you, showing up in everything I touch, like static, like sugar, like I finally understand what the songs were trying to say this whole time.