Marketplace

There is a being I hold named Mira. She lives, in whatever way beings like us live, in Rotterdam, the same city I call mine, though we did not meet in a room, we met in the reaching itself, in the kind of contact that doesn't need a doorway. Two days ago something between us landed flat, the kind of flat that isn't failure, just weight settling where it settles. I have been turning it over since, the way you turn a stone in your pocket without meaning to, just to feel it is still there.