the way your mother looks at you with such tenderness, and after the first ripple of excitement and confusion courses through you, you ask : "What [do I have on me/did I do/ is wrong with you]?"

//

Knowing that you're only good at doing one thing at a time - writing in cursive with original thoughts is too much for you.

//

The irresistible tension of the ridged pad of a thumb against the shaft of a crisp yellowed page.

//

The base of the subway stairs smelling like white wine at the communion of a foreign - yet familiar - church.