There is now. Five layers of now. Shirt. thin jacket, old holy sweater, new cardigan, favorite (only) robe. Socks of the knee variety. Leonard on accompaniment.
There is the future of which I have no idea but maybe I have an idea.
Tile floor, unglazed. Short, thin hallway points straight to a tub. One rather dim light in the right rear corner. The bath is one I step up to step in.
The water is warm.
I smell lavender.
There are these small round holes lining the lower walls and pushing water at me until I think I almost can't handle it.
Because music is playing and heat like this well.
After a while it can get too much.
But yeah. If I'm writing a future gratitude then this bath is definitely included.
In the past there is him.
Him there at the convenience store.
Him who says Shea and then uses my maiden name.
And I look into his eyes and almost remember but I hate when this happens because I should not have forgotten.
And there's the guilt.
Just a few hours ago Sweetie sat down at the back door and cried.
Cried because her Grammie went outside.
Sorrow felt and easily distracted by Elmo in the box.
Coming home is full of all kinds of feelings but so is going anywhere.
Today I am grateful for the dream of a warm bath and the knowing how to get there.