what i love about crowds is anonymous. what i love about mornings is alone.
half-lit room. half-drunk coffee. chill on bare shoulders. mechanical washing of last night’s dishes; the morning demands nothing. tactical. silent. no unresolved questions. there is, however, a fly beating its wings against the window. there is the low light emerging. there are my hands in front of me. there is you, there in the corner. there is you, before you notice me.
what i love about you is
silent.
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