I envision her in the corners of my mind. She's nutmeg and cinnamon with clover hair sprinkled in iridescent stars. Light freckles dab her cheeks and nose. She quilts. She sketches clothes. She wears combat boots. She texts me first. She writes letters to me in crayon. She doesn't come out to visit: she decides to leave to live with me in the city. We split Chinese food. She eats all the fruits and vegetables in the house. She hates ketchup, mustard and relish. She finishes what she starts. She means every word she says. She never looks at me like I'm secondhand. Life is good.
