tonight i occupy this small space, the space of my hands and my feet, the space they create for themselves. i wonder, how do we negotiate the newity of this? i am molding something small in my fingers, kneading it like tarek does the bread, and it is soft, like the dough, it is soft. maybe it is a new heart that i can pop inside me, fit into all those absent holes that you have left, or maybe, just maybe, it is the heart of something else, a small thing, that i knew once and lost. i cannot lay claim to all of this sorrow for some of it is not birthed yet.