All good things in the life I know involve me stumbling into my own astonishment. I take a half-step in the dark and you are beside me, my hand nestled in your hand as if it has always belonged there. When you call me little flower as a way of saying good morning and all good things spill into the day like sunlight, how grateful I am for a cracked window. When you place a wet kiss on my nape while washing my back in the shower, I think of all good things and forget I am wounded. When I find you in the kitchen failing to make coconut buns you’ve seen someone else do, when I try to braid your hair and it becomes a hot mess, when I use too much spice and you still lick the spoon, I recognise all good things hold our mistakes gently. Each time I think I finally know who you are, I am grateful for my ignorance.  All good things come in waves, and each version of you I would take gladly: when I’m awake, or in my dreams, in this life or the next. If every corner of this universe where you exist are all good things, I beg to be allowed to hold you close. Let me embrace your ghost to my bones.