VE
STUDIO
where creativity becomes connection
Ramen knows things she has no business knowing.
She knows which Thursdays complain the loudest.
She knows the sound of my car before it turns onto the street.
She knows when a suitcase means three days and when it means two weeks.
She knows that opening a bag of shredded cheese requires immediate supervision.
She is certain that wherever I'm headed next is worth following.
She has collected ten years of useless information.
The exact location of every sunbeam worth lying in.
Which neighbors can be trusted.
Which delivery drivers are suspicious.
The fact that I occasionally dance while waiting for the kettle to whistle.
She knows all of this and has told absolutely no one.
What I wonder is how she files me away.
Am I the woman who loses her phone six times a day?
The woman who rearranges furniture and then spends three days deciding she liked it better before?
The woman who talks to paintings, plants, birds, and sometimes herself?
If so, fair enough.
Lately I've caught glimpses of silver appearing where caramel used to be.
A slower rise from the couch.
A little more consideration before jumping.
A little lift in to the car.
Nothing dramatic.
Just the quiet arithmetic of time.
The kind that arrives without asking.
And every so often I find myself wanting to negotiate with it.
Take my ability to remember passwords.
Take my metabolism.
Take whatever part of adulthood is responsible for enjoying throw pillows.
But leave the dog.
Leave her exactly as she is.
Curled into impossible shapes.
Nose twitching, subtle growls, and legs running through dreams I'll never hear.
Certain that wherever I'm headed next is worth following.
Ten years in, she still looks at me like I've come up with the best idea in the world when I say the word
"outside."
Maybe that's love.
Not the grand kind.
Not the cinematic kind.
Just the sort that keeps showing up, day after day, with muddy paws and unreasonable optimism.