I didn’t realize the puffer fish was a thief when I bought him. He swipes the light that peeks
through the bedroom window. He takes my memory of how to perform simple tasks. My
shoelaces are left untied. He pinches the fifteenth from my calendar. The mortgage doesn’t
get paid. He takes the silence from the bedroom. My lack of sleep causes me to put salad
dressing on my cereal. He pockets my laughs. Now I don’t find things funny. The color from
my day goes missing. I’m stuck living in a black and white movie. I struggle to leave him
notes. He keeps stealing my words.