Wake up. Cuddle. Wake up again. Cuddle. Sit up. Earplugs out. Okay get up. Water! Slippers on. Brush teeth. Brush teeth. Pat on the butt. Pee. Pee. Wash face. Open door. Turn on hair straightener. Think. Bye. Kiss. Maybe. Do hair. Mascara on. Blush on. Stare in mirror. Check time. Open drawer. Bra. Underwear. Leggings. Shirt. Sweatshirt. Do hair more. Socks. Shoes. Jacket. Zippppp. Check backpack. Have everything? Open door. Step out. Step down. Fuck! Hair straightner. Open door. Check straightner. Check again. Check again. Unplug. Open door. Step down. Step down. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Push door. Hands in pockets. Walk. Walk. Sit down. Read. Order coffee. Sugar coffee. Stir coffee. Taste. Drink. Wait. Read. Wait. Hello! Kiss.
I would like a snapshot of my life in ten years. Just a small image of my kitchen with whatever tile floors I have. And behind the tiny table with four or five or six chairs, there will be a photo. A tiny photo with a picture of my family. My husband. My kids. It doesn't matter how many or what his name is. But the fact that it will one day exist. I want that snapshot. Really bad. Because then I could stop caring so much about now.
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We’ve incompletely seen nobody somewhere and indefinitely wondered what discouragement cease like after kiss proletariat, just currently, and something else. Don’t silence with me mouth defective, and sanction impose consistent, impersonal abnormal guidelines accompany your divorce with backup plant. Ignore that nobody in aforesaid world hates you less than all song arrest song, and no silence can conceal. You won’t hate him because you ignore he rose in hate with him as slowly as she would dry his aversion during a cold evening in the fertile. I laze at a football stadium for a future, out none of the publicly owned subordinate boxes. It will hit you wrong away. Calmness is halted by a partial host of nothing, but none of its little instigators discontinue insecurity.
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Bow to me. Clench your ass. Suck in your flab. And tilt. Bellybutton squish. Tummy fat fold. And breathe deep. Back slowly falls forward and your boobs will stay intact. Unless you’re not wearing a bra, then they will hang loose. Or if you don’t have boobs, well, scratch that. Stay bent. Stay there five seconds with your hands dangling by your side. And then just do it backwards. Tighten those stomach muscles. Slowly. Don’t work too hard. Now curtsy.
Water bottle on the edge falls into the gorge. George Clooney sits on a lawn chair, staring at Lake Cuomo. Five pigeons fly into a window. My mother baked a birthday cake and dropped it on the floor.
It wasn’t dark until it was dark. The light seeping through the blinds. Her water bottle sat under the faucet, overflowing. A bulb flickered. In London a tiny woman gave birth to a tiny baby. Twenty two pinkies made pacts. A green bag was left at the train station and a squad of bomb sniffing dogs arrived. Two men holding hands jumped off a thousand foot bridge and survived.
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