If time worked a little different

*** I wrote this back in January. I must have decided it was too weird or too vulnerable or maybe it wasn't going how I wanted it to and didn't post it. But now, with some distance, I like it, a lot. So, here you go. -Cat 10/1/25****

In another life, I’m quietly closing the door against the frigid night. Feeling grateful for the lamp left on near the door, quietly placing my keys back in my bag, and delicately taking my shoes off, foot by foot, nudging them into place beside everyone else's. 

In another life, I’m keeping close to the wall while ascending the stairs in a failed attempt to not rouse the dogs. Oh well. I suppose now that we’re awake, now that we’re all out of our rooms, we might as well. Fill the kettle and pick out cups, yawn through giggles, and over-accentuate our frowns. No, I don’t know what to make of this. Maybe nothing. Maybe we should say something. Maybe we’re right to not respond at all. 

In another life, we all forgo a good night’s sleep. A late arrival spun easily into another inning of talking. There is so much to say, and relive, after all, it has been a full day since we’ve seen one another. This news alone would give us 24 hours worth of conversing but we hardly need it, this grapevine is always offering new fruits for the tasting.

In another life, we exhaust the gossip. Give way to recounting each decision we weighed that day, consider the ones we’d like to remeasure and return to the ones we can’t get over. In another life, I’m putting this in your hand, or on the table, or maybe it’s staying in my purse, but I’m gesturing as I explain it to you all. Drawing a circle in the air with both hands. Framing your faces.