![]() I know I’ll see you tomorrow night, but the in-between only hurts when you know you’re between something. I sometimes recognize movements from a past life, something as simple as a quick leap from my dining chair at the Ikea food court brings me back to the effervescent way I’d make my way through dhall at Bennington. I’ve been transcribing my feelings using other words. I easily confuse them for Saturdays or Mondays. I’d rather search and hope than have and know. ![]() There’s the violet hour-a time that doesn’t feel much like anything while living in it, waiting and searching for anything to happen. The fairy lights outside the Italian restaurant I face from my window turn on when the sun goes down and then off again by midnight. ![]() I don’t like Sundays because they lead nowhere. Most people fear Sundays because they don’t want to enter another week, for the weekend to come to a close.
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