You are the kombucha in the corner. You are the extra fridge. You are the terroir. You are the errant copy of Pachinko on the couch. You are the long-suffering and begrudgingly clean roommate. You fit in a hole not quite the size or shape of you, at least at first. The hole begins to change shape, as do you, in the parts that will give when you squeeze in.
You are the unused bike with the flat tire. You are the box of N95 masks, which are actually KN95. You are the bag of winter gear at the top of the closet. You are the smell of your cold car seats in the morning. You are the things you set aside time for, and the things you wish you could set aside time for.
You are a tattoo appointment in two months. You are a reminder to call your friends. You are a promise to yourself to quit your job. You are your job.
You are your untapped potential. You are what you choose to share and what you choose to keep. You are what makes you cry. You are laughter, you are light. You are a brief time with the self proclaimed authorities you will meet, the map you will draw despite them, the accidental drops of color from paint night, and the unfinished edges of the map.