Cobain

 Of course, there’s another too. This lover was kind and attentive to everything I had to say. He gave me fresh baked bread that I ate on my drive home. And cookies that he’d made with rosemary and feta. I fed them to my ex-husband and children. Where did these cookies come from, they asked? From Staci, I said, but they were not from Staci. 

I think about this person and want to call him up to make music but actual music. Music and lovers and unrequited love seem to follow me like a shadow. They might be the same thing, like a spirit in a different form.