the curve of their cheek against my shoulder, the way their breath warms my neck, it's a borrowed peace, i know that, a temporary stay against eviction, but in that moment, christ, in that moment, the bills don't matter, the minivan doesn't smell, the lego underfoot is just plastic, not knives, and the coffee… it’s hot, maybe, no, not really, it never is, but for a heartbeat it could be, the phantom warmth of what i thought this would be, i don't want to let go, i don't ever ever want to let go, but my arms are so tired, but they feel safe. but chris' words keep replaying and replaying… like a broken record, he doesn't mean to, but he does… the warmth is fading, and i'm not seen, or maybe, but i can't bare the thought of not being. and it's back. everything’s back.