Some things. Fragments.
The dead plant outside my window sounds like mice when it scratches against the glass. The sky is a purple haze. I am grateful for Sundays. When all I need to do is listen to music loud, sing along louder and get some writing done. And drink some coffee in my chilly room to keep warm.
I need to find more good poets to read. I like Sylvia Plath. All that talk about water and ocean and moon. I am obsessed with the sea. And stars and constellations.
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