09.07.2006 - 11:27 a.m.

I'm getting used to the misty parts of the morning, the parts before the sun is properly up or the kids have gone from the bus stops, the parts that always seem later in the year than they are.

I curl around my laptop, not hungry yet, but with something tight coiled in my chest; something slow about each movement, time to blink between each thought.

If you told me there was more to the universe than a dark room with slices of dawn threading through it, I wouldn't believe you. The future exists in the lesson plans on my laptop, in tangled to-do thoughts, but my body is still warm and resistant and unsure of anything outside those blinds, outside this bed, outside its skin.

This never happens after eight.

-stonebridge

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