the crumbs

i’ve never liked a glass of i’ve never liked a glass of milk. like sweatpants everyone suddenly wore because a lazy day had become necessary, i never understood it. funny, though, isn’t it? what does my understanding have to do with waking up in the morning, eating cereal, and going on about the day? there was one day in particular i wish had never existed. i fed a green-eyed cat. probably not green-eyed. what do i know? eyes were either brown, light, dark, or mine, for me. but this particular day, did feed a cat on the side of the road, waiting for a taxi for some godforsaken length of time in the hot sun without an umbrella. somehow, there were crumbs in my bag. i don’t remember what they were crumbs of. the cat liked them, though. i watched it nibble, slowly, patiently, with a patience i didn’t know i had. that’s it, i thought. hat’s my life’s trajectory. i’m also nibbling, attempting to make something of myself out of whatever i can swallow—leftovers of a time ahead, a time…