There are a few objects that quietly anchor my days, the small things that make life feel stitched together. My phone is the first—less a gadget and more a pocket‑sized notebook where half‑formed poems land before they drift away. Then there are my comic books, those bright-paper portals that let me step out of the world for a while and into somewhere louder, stranger, and wonderfully unreal. And finally, the constants: my wife and my cat. They’re not objects, of course, but they’re the companions who turn the ordinary into something worth coming home to.