Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-One
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The orange glow of pre-dawn.
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I decide that more cereal is on the menu for breakfast. Because this is the first week.
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The Art of Slow Writing.
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We decide that none of the albariños taste like albariño. And is this a shift in style or inexperienced palates? Maybe both.
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I tickle him enough to get him dressed so that we can get the rest of the items on the list.
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Had forgotten how good he looks in real pants. He opts for the skinny jeans over the straight leg.
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I watch him walk ahead of me. The length of his legs and the width of his shoulders. We walk by young men who are a few years older and a few inches taller but I see him in them. I can’t believe that this is the human I gave birth to.
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Hot.
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No clearer than before.
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What is being said versus what is being heard. Add a filter of experience through which all the words are passing through and then you get to what is being felt.