Adriana

I am jealous of your bedsheets— the ones you wrap yourself in over and over when you are unreasonably cold for the season. I am jealous of the people who get to pass by you in the metro and who will never know your name. They don’t know that they are lucky, that their shoulders touch someone wonderful and generous and kind, someone who makes all of this worth it. I can’t expect everyone to know you, and yet I wish they did. I wish they could. I see people honored with awards and galas and cash prizes, but have any of them ever kissed someone on the forehead and made them feel as though they are good enough just the way they are? I hope so. There should be an award for that.