Reflections

November 25, 2024

I burned my toast this morning, a small, charred mistake that left the kitchen smelling like charcoal for hours. I stood there...

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November 25, 2024

The clock does not move. Only the hands move. We stand in the center of the rush. A river of bodies flows...

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November 24, 2024

I keep a small, silver thimble in my sewing kit that belonged to my grandmother, its surface pitted with tiny, rhythmic indentations...

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