They’re that stain of spaghetti sauce on your white top splashed on after spooling noodles on your fork.

They’re that pressure on your cactus bladder full of solution after a day of ingestion. 

They’re that black ponytail on your right wrist that leaves a fuchsia ring after hours of wear. 

They’re me replying to you within our usual fifteen minutes after you haven’t been here. 
–Elizabeth Lacey