Lost Limbo

It might be ‘just’ something, it might be not what you’d hoped.

But it’s something.

And now I’ve lost that limbo.

After seventeen months, a new record.




He likes them traditional. It’s easier that way.

She likes them cute. It’s adorable that way.

The pumpkins like themselves without holes.

With innards.

And not spending nights burning on the inside.

Don’t we all?