Finding Ourselves in the Spin Cycle

I used to think healing had a timeline, like you could schedule it between your morning coffee and

lunch break. Then I met Marcus on a Tuesday at the laundromat, both of us staring

at our spinning clothes like they held answers to questions we were too afraid to ask.

He was folding his shirts into perfect squares, the kind of precision that screamed control

freak or recent heartbreak. I was shoving mine into a bag like a raccoon hiding

stolen goods. He laughed first, this unexpected sound that cracked through the hum

of dryers. We started meeting there every Tuesday. Not on purpose at first,

then very much on purpose. He told me about his ex who left him for someone