Squeezing into limited space hardly seems the point unless maybe you live your life floating by doing just that.
Its just seems so cramped. But maybe there's something more intimate to it.
Big things do happen in tiny places.
You, tangled in my limited space, your stuff climbing out of a backpack sitting by the door, half on the carpet and half on the hardwood floor. Some change from your jean pocket spilled out under the bed. Unpacked just enough, you seem comfortable, and so am I.
I never knew how to guess you like this with me into existence.
Sharing small moments squeezed into a limited space in time.
This compressed affair must fit your schedule fine, but I want you here like this as long as I can have it.
I couldn't have asked for a better stop watch, but next time I'm breaking the batteries and you're staying longer.