SHE TALKS, HE LOOKS, THEY HEAR

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Early-morning refreshment of a late-night talk, which drags on as that of a book, elaborate thinking going on unconsciously, a 19th century book – the author knows everything, and tells you that the protagonist will keep that memento till the day she dies in old age (she’s only 15 now.) It seems at dawn a whole new meaning is to be found in what was said, was going to be said, was going to be left unsaid, that too has revealed itself over the course of the night. Went to bed, set the alarm for 7 but knew instinctively that come 6 both eyes would pop open, limbs would stir and the bed covers would feel uncomfortable. The weather is colder, it seems they’ve painted the bus stop another color. This bright yellow drives me crazy! Human eyes can’t encompass the entire reality. The frame around things stays the same, and yet always changes.

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