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Category: Writing and Poetry
Quiet house in the afternoon. Again. Curtains distill shadows of sunlight, dulling edges. The warm, the claustrophobic; the air finds its way to the center of them. Awake in a time of slowness, breathing lazy. In traces of boredom. Again. Every scrutinized thought magnified under their eyes. The unconsciousness in the day, it would be so good. The quiet smell of skin on sheets and unnoticed dust flying in shafts of light. Distraction that wouldn't be thought of. The sleep taking them somewhere. Around again.
2:03 AM
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