I know that kind of alone; the house so quiet and still that you stand in front of the window and try to make the yellow light of morning feel like soft hands against your face. I know—you notice every drip from the kitchen sink. A car door slamming shut on the other side of the street. I’ve crooned until the moon rose, left my chair to run barefoot in the grass, bashed a frying pan against the metal teeth of the stove range just to shake off the shock. I remind myself there is nothing I’m waiting for. The day is a clean white canvas. This silence is no terrible thing. Look at how the house loves to listen. I’m not alone. Here, watch how the stars wink back at me. Look at how the sun returns to sit in wait by the window. How well I’ve come to know its touch.
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something deeply intimate about being outside early in the morning all alone and seeing the world as she is
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i’m a simple girl i see a man with big arms and a kind heart and i get a little stupid
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