Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty-Nine
I don’t really want to get out of bed, but I know I need to.
The sunrise is always worth it.
Putzing around the office in the dark. Memories of my old office and how quiet it was and how much it glowed from the natural light.
Gummy bears and sour patch kids.
The introvert’s fear of being unable to escape a group social event.
I correctly identify the piece as Chopin, which makes me want to put on my Spotify channel.
Orange sherbet for clouds.
His seat is leaned so far back and I’m sure that the only reason he can see above the steering wheel is because he’s over six feet tall.
White and red and black.
I pick up a pile of his clothes and think about him a little younger, a little smaller. And I think about that time I took him to get photos when he was a baby, and those cheeks and blue eyes.
