Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Six
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In the dream, I have entered her home and am waiting to surprise her. She is surprised, but not exactly happy about it. This surprise does not have the effect that I want it to have.
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Though I know why it ended, I still miss it. And that’s okay.
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I can barely open my mouth. I can open wide enough for the spoons of yogurt I want to eat before drinking coffee.
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Thick fog. Camera in hand. Everything is saturated and alive and quiet.
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Nothing else opens until noon.
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We find the sweaters and the pants, nothing for the oldest except Vans.
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I show her the ceramics in the window and talk about what I love about the shop. Someone is inside. I think he’s telling me through the glass that he likes my bun.
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We decided to walk the galleries when we don’t have chai and donuts in our hands.
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“Are you living, or are you existing?”
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“You are the rite of movement / Its reasonin' made lucid and cool / I know it's no improvement / When you move, I move..” - Movement, Hozier
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Since she already took the wings, he can’t decide if he wants a thigh or a breast. “It’s all chicken!” she yells from the dining room.
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“Who’s Selena? The girl in the store had her on her shirt,” she says. “Oh, I can’t hear any of her music and not cry,” I say.
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“So the thing about the mouthguard is that it keeps your teeth from grinding, but it doesn’t keep you from clenching your jaw so tight that you can’t open your mouth when you wake up.”