There’s no blame, really but you should know that you can’t just let yourself into my house, sit at my counter, leave a mess of nutshells and slip out the back window without a word. Who does that? I know, it’s not really grounds for killing but we built four walls for a reason and no one likes to be reminded that all it takes to get inside is to chew a hole through the flimsy screen. I have a friend in Colorado. You should go to her house instead. You guys are made for each other. She has cats, yeah, but it’s ok, she’s quicker. She’ll catch you, gently, scoop you up, swaddle you build you a home of your own, whatever you want – cabin, castle, raised ranch – it’s yours. She’ll bring you seeds and nuts every morning like you deserve. She’ll make you birthday cakes. Do you know what birthday cake is? Just go to her I’ll tell her you’re coming Just go because I’m not her, anymore I have lost my kindness somewhere outside. I love you, I do but you’re always yelling at me climbing the walls, scratching at the roof barging in, now, even when we’re home. The dog’s at the window with every noise - we can’t relax, not like I ever could but I’m checking outside for trouble, now, not just in. Today both the cardinal and the sumac sounded off their red alarms around the sun-scorched yard while you stood out there screaming. It’s so August even the bee balm is burning out and I’m so hot I finally fired back
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