Dear short nails,
I love you. You are the very best length because I can type faster with you. I can throw clay without making unintentional grooves. I can hold pens and paintbrushes and tiny beads so much easier. I can blur pastels with the easiest of ease. I love you. (And I promise I’m working on the biting.)
Dear frozen-hashbrowns-from-Trader-Joe’s,
I love you. You are perfect in the air fryer for 17 minutes at 400 degrees, which is a lot more than the package says, but I love you best when you’re too crispy, with a sprinkle of flaky Maldon and a drizzle of honey.
Dear not-praying,
I love you. I love the way I don’t pray. I love that I don’t feel afraid that something will go wrong if I don’t pray, and how I don’t start thinking I’m an ungrateful person if I don’t pray. I love that I am my own witness to myself; I love that there are no all-seeing eyes.
Dear most-recently-made-clay-pot,
I love you. You collapsed on the wheel when I was testing wall thickness. Out of the kiln, you are e…
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