I think I’ll have a single plate, bowl and cup. A single set of utensils. A pot or two. I’ll wash dishes after every meal. The dishwasher will go unused.

I think I’ll wear cotton night gowns and slippers on my feet and pad quietly around. I’ll hear birds and crickets and frogs.

I won’t rush.

I’ll think a lot.

I’ll listen to myself breathe and my heart beat till it doesn’t anymore.

I’ll stare at my spotted and vein labryinthed hands and wonder whose they are.

Maybe someone will have to help me up and down stairs, but I hope not.

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