But eventually, you are cross-legged on your own sofa, in your own little apartment, eating a piece of cake topped with sugared peach and you're drenched in the wet orange joy of it. Every time you touch your fingertips to your soft pale belly, you realise: you are living. What a dream you could be wishing for in some other, darker, life: to be here, now. Bathtub full of tea, cotton bedspread speckled with a hundred blue flowers, a thrift store ceramic planter with a sunlit basil plant forming itself right before your eyes. You have come so far to love your little life so much that you would not trade a single scar. Love it so much, that the empty side of the bed is already full.