Temporary

by Hilary Leichter

It’s a real good deed to let someone else comfort you, because the comfort goes both ways.

my agnostic boyfriend says, cracking his knuckles and dying for a debate about death.

Every office has a long-haired man who doesn’t trim his sideburns, who tells his coworkers things they don’t want to hear, who does a passable impression of a bird.

I think of my many available selves, coagulated and discrete, compromising themselves for one another.

Who’s to say I’ll still be myself a year from now? Twenty years on, someone might be more my current self than I ever could have been.

Just because something is familiar does not mean it is mine.

I was complaining about the world, about which I had brand new ideas, ideas that were brand new only to me.

None of the things we used to do make sense anymore, but I guess we both still drink water.