Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Fifteen
In the dream, she has a giant parmesan wheel, and she cuts me a wedge.
Still very dark.
An explosion of orange out of nowhere. And I feel drops of rain. These two things don’t seem like they should go together.
This chair. This cup with hot decaf. This gray and moody sky. This quiet.
Where did all the time go?
So much moving around of words. How else can we say the same thing over and over and over again?
“The audacity of self-belief.”
I tell them they need to go to bed now. “It’s only 8:30!” they say. Oh, so it is.
These knees.
Big, big moon.
