Your shroud has arrived. The one that will be appropriate for the natural cemetery. It weighs ten ponds. The advertisement says that four strong women can carry their departed friend to her resting place in it. We have not yet opened it to see what it actually looks like, and how it is to be used. So it sits neatly in its tall box, leaning against the living room wall. You are happy that it does not take up much space and is easy to store.
Mine should be here within two weeks.
You bend the space within which I live, drawing me into your orbit. We circle a common center. Whatever electromagnetic distances might separate us – galaxies even – in the field of psych/social time/space we are near. In the empty point around which we circle, I can hear you breathing. I will see your dreams should you choose to share them – dreams of our new home. In this way our dreams intermingle and negotiate our future.