100 Napkins

We’ve been through 100 napkins.

Maybe we wasted some,

overused others,

but the fact remains.

100 napkins and the story is still going.

There’s already another napkins’ pack open.

This is probably the most unimportant time marker

ever to be referenced.

But nonetheless.

In 100 napkins time, a lot happened.

Hurt peaked its head and I felt I didn’t know you.

I’m guessing somewhere along the napkin debacle,

you felt something similar.

The understanding of what it means

to share everything with someone

that it’s not your mirror dawned on us.

The new light burning unexpected eyes.

We finally found a job that overwhelms us both

and we figured out yet another way to fight each other on a daily basis.

And then we take the bus home

and sit apart unless there’s no other option,

and set the table for two,

and recklessly go through napkins

until we used them all and have to open a new pack.

The mathematical fact remains.

In the process, I became unfazed by your snot.

I’ve accepted you will leave water in the kettle sometimes.

And I am trying to remember to say good morning first.

I know you have your list of acceptables and unsavoury details,

but you’re not prone to writing and I am still not that good at reading you.

We talk different languages.

We edit each other and ourselves.

I learn to let go and you learn to stay and fight.

We’re mastering transferable skills.

And going through napkins at an alarming rate.

I document this journey from a subjective perspective.

Today’s mood is tired.

Yesterday, the 100 napkins may have cleaned other surfaces.

Bring about, from garbage past, other stories.

We’ve been through 100 napkins.

That fact remains.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.