if I squint

I can, with one eye squinted, take it all as a blessing.

— Flannery O’Connor

The dog throws up on the rug. If I squint, it’s confirmation she needs me.

The leftovers congeal in their Tupperware graves. If I squint, it’s abundance, baby. Domestic goddess with a side of decay.

My mom calls to ask if I’m “seeing anyone,” then backtracks into, “Well, as long as you’re happy.” If I squint, that’s love trying its absolute best.

The unexpected bill. The red light that won’t change. The neighbors who argue on their balcony. If I squint, it’s proof we still give a damn.

The man at the post office coughs directly into his hand and then hands me my receipt. If I squint, it’s community. (A damp, contagious one.)

The silence between me and someone I used to know every version of. If I squint, it’s peace, not absence.

The cracked phone screen, the wilting lettuce, the endless email threads that begin with “per my last.” If I squint, that’s continuity. Civilization.

My face in the mirror: tired, a little bloated, somehow older and younger at the same time. If I squint, that’s becoming.

The world keeps showcasing how it’s falling apart — mildew in the shower, headlines that read like satire, people disappearing mid-conversation into their phones.

But if I squint, maybe it’s all just the same old ache of being alive: everyone trying, failing, loving badly, showing up anyway.

If I squint, I can almost believe this was the plan all along.

If you made it this far, click that itty-bitty digital organ! ❤️