… and I wish you were here to remove the pins from my hair the same way I wish you were here to drown out your absence with your voice. With every pin, I remember the delicate sweep of your fingerprints, the wry look of your eyes laughing at my terrible jokes, and layer it into every moment we’ve said I love you and I miss you, when we’ve really meant come home, as if home were our flesh meeting instead of a place, our foreheads together, hands twined, all of ourselves an ornate, whimsical Escher arabesque spelling out contentment, where were you? or yes.