Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Eighty-One
Morning headache.
The sound of rain beating against the rooftop.
A deep breath.
One by one.
The hot bowl of soup only provides temporary warmth.
Just one more Nyquil-induced sleep.
Being the odd one in the group, not shaking hands or hugging because of a cold.
We talk about the importance of being around artists.
He sends a picture of her on the bench for the Varsity game.
“I cooked.”