when you live in a studio

all three of you, in the one room ...

things collect, like this, on dresser-tops and window-sills

and there are shoes everywhere

your bedroom is all bed, and closet, and library

and there's only one drawer for all the little things, like underwear and leggings and belts ... so you'll never find that matching sock (in fact, you begin to suspect it doesn't actually exist)

and you may just have to shower in the middle of the bathroom floor,
with woody and buzz and what's-her-name

and your kitchen is literally this size : three baby cabinets, one for spices only, a baby refrigerator, a baby sink, and a hot plate or two

and your art-making spills out over the dining room table (which is also, in turn, an office for two, a fort for a five-year-old, and the occasional laundromat), all opposite your living room (which is just a fancy way of saying 'that sofa over there')

but none of that matters, because in the end ...