My body is changing.
I call it perimenopause—
but who really knows?
I wake at 2:30.
Sometimes 3.
Once, 3:30.
I don’t sleep
straight through anymore.
I rise in the hush,
pad to the bathroom,
scatter more kibble
for the cats,
then drift back to bed.
And there you are—
mewing softly,
curling by my head
or tucking yourself
beneath my arm,
purring that warm,
small engine of comfort
until morning finds us—
no alarm,
just light.
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