Grey morning creeps in through open-eyed windows, steals between the sheets—as dark as the thought of cold before it can be felt— slips through shuttered eyes sewn shut by colors dreamed into them without will or consistency, and now, just there, just above the window, grey-winged mourners come. Perhaps, like me, they want the world to wake up without them.
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Wishing you a good mourning?
Well….I still haven’t had many chances to sleep in…but there have been a *few* more….