The Donut Shop
There was a donut shop on the rough side of the unfamiliar town on the edge of Missouri that we were forced to move to. You wouldn't let me go by myself, always so protective (possessive). It had the only sign with neon colors that screamed "YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! HANG ON!" that I had seen in the entire cowtown.
Then, following your first night shift, I found a bag of Lorenzo's donuts on the night stand when I woke up, as you snored loudly next to me. Through the:
holes in walls
broken photo frames
ripped up notes
yelling until we both couldn't hear anymore
that followed, those donuts always magically appeared on my nightstand.
Years later, after I had emergency surgery and was learning to readapt to being the normal world, I always found stopping at the donut shop by my studio thousands of miles away from Missouri comforting. I never got a donut, instead an almond milk chai latte, but something about that half-eaten donut on the shop's sign always made me feel like everything was going to be okay.
And everything was.