break

The light over the marsh was hesitant, resisting the day. Cereal bloated and pushed against the sides of the bowl. Later, rain would fall, pulsing onto rolled hay. We would feel there was something wrong. A deja vu of movement, pressed into the eye. We would take our dishes out of the cupboard and put them right into the dishwasher to save time. We wouldn’t know why we were crying.

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