she hated the way you never knew anything about arbus
or the way a glance can change the room
that the idea of making a home filled you with regret and not with joy
that you didn't see the value of a quiet pot of flowers breathing on the sill
or the way coconut milk floods a space with home
she hated the way you spoke only with periods
and the way the next page seemed like a logical suite
how you didn't see that softness
or the brush of a finger
made the whole day disappear
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