I came home and mixed some mayo with tuna.
It was good.
I walked the 70 feet to the mailbox mindfully.
It was a gift.
I swallowed errant love words else I lose myself.
I do not need twelve ingredients for a sandwich.
I do not need a paved road.
I still need simple touch.
I sat quietly, writing this for a few moments.
There was no boomerang.
I was safe.