I ran into Kabir in the bookstore. He still reads poetry like it’s contraband. He asked if I wanted to grab coffee; I said yes because I wanted to be reminded how easily laughter could arrive. We spoke about trivial things and then about the sort of regrets that feel like old furniture — familiar, awkward, necessary. He confessed a new job. I confessed that I’d started a line of prints of my sketches. Confessions, it turns out, are the easiest way back to someone.

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Snippets of personal life, travel, and wellness routines.

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