Woke to your pictures—
     you and your friends
     poured straight from joy.

We kept it light yesterday,
   almost quiet on purpose,

   and somehow the line felt stronger for being thin.

Your Jackets raised 6–0
     like a fresh flag,
     and the road ahead looks kind…

     if they can just keep their feet.

I kept my cheer folded small—
  hope behaves better that way.

Brewers finished the Cubs (sorry, Mari)
        so we’ll borrow the Trident tonight—
        Mariners over Jays,

        one team we can hold together.

I made breakfast for Ava,
  walked over to Oscar’s,
  set up camp for the NFL hum,
  sent your voice memo on the way—

  a cup on your doorstep before morning fully wakes.

Steelers with Ava,
         until her callback calls—
         break a leg,

         and take the room with you.

Dinner with Mom later,
       then a late game glow,
       and the kind of tired I like,

       earned and useful.

Today is for packing joy,
           not headlines—
           little proofs
           tucked in pockets:

           a smile,
           a score,
           a photo that warms my everything.

Tomorrow waits,
         the day we’ve been circling
         for two weeks… and change.

I won’t rush it,
  but I’m ready.

We’ll pour our days
      into a ten-minute hug,
      and let the quiet tell the truth
      we kept all weekend—

Sunday holds the thread.
Monday has the arms.