Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Five
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Blurry eyes.
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Overcast morning. No red sunrise. Coffee percolating. Leftover garlic knots.
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Morning yoga. Should not have had the bread.
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Four baskets of laundry and water and coffee. Overcast skies. Quiet.
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Wishing time would slow down.
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He was so tiny. Could fit him in the crook of my arm.
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I let him tell the story to start because it is that funny. I am laughing so hard that I am crying. But I haven’t heard anything in the attic since that night.
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The cookies must be in the oven. Scents of baking spice and butter wafting up into the bedroom.
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If I am going to be working on something, I’m glad it’s this.
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If I say it out loud enough maybe I’ll believe it, too.