At 6:30, a cup of coffee with cream and hints of sugar. Let my tongue float on the muddy brown with eyes closed, slipping into consciousness. Safety lives inside this paper cup. Comraderie, comfort, security. All the heft of a single day balanced against my lips. And with a slight tilt of the wrist, spills back into the throat, and sails through circulatory seas to those far-off synapses who fire a cheer of welcome. Too many miles until sleep. Because. We accept this.
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- I have discovered the appeal of going to a restaurant and having a meal alone: sangria and not having to share the house-made salsa. 2 days ago
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Jess, I want this on a placard over my office door. Or maybe tatooed on my forearm. In its entirety.
It’s like “Ode to being tired but finding a small moment to realize that everything is alright, really”.
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