wee hours


there is something stirringly surreal about embracing a new day at an early hour. screaming silence harmonizes with the rhythm of what sounds like hundreds of crickets chirping just beyond the bedroom walls. espresso rises, bubbly in the small caffettiera, encouraging movement with its aroma filling the dimly-lit kitchen. and the moon winks smilingly through the morning mist of clouds. from the emptiness of the suburbs, i realize, i am not alone.


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