Dear Christina Aguilera -
We first really met on a treadmill. That black line that stutters and blurs out of motherhood. This was after my second child and I’ll admit, I was blurry as the rain spackled glass I was looking through. I’m sure we’d met before back in your Genie days. You are like one of those Russian dolls continually walking out of yourself. I was listening to a mix I’d put together I called don’t fuck with me I’m sleep deprived. And every time your song came on, I’d look at the album cover on my iPhone (you, sleek as a gazelle). Then, I'd look into the dead eyed glass in front of me and run for it. You know Christina, I never got through that space between what I perceived and what was real. That black line in the brain that is continually moving past.