Recently, my friend was pining for a lost love. She’d messaged him recently. No rhyme. No reason. Just, ‘I heard a song, I thought of you. Are you well?’
And now you are awake.
It twists and bends and warps, and it never seems quite right if you think about it too much, but we still wear it like a favorite old sweater. It’s full of holes, and it’s torn and patchy in places, but we tell people it just adds character.