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It’s 6:08 AM and 6 degrees Fahrenheit outside. My window sweats on the inside and a truck motor runs on the street for ten minutes working to defrost its inner cargo. The frosty hills are still dark as hell. Somewhere hours away you’re waking up choking for coffee and running off moved by the efficient early metro buses, the graying slush, and the misty chandelier of streetlamps. Maybe next winter you’ll be here to coax me to put down the books before the too-long awaited dawn. Until then, Good morning. Goodnight.
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Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
Next Winter
It’s 6:08 AM and 6 degrees Fahrenheit outside. My window sweats on the inside and a truck motor runs on the street for ten minutes working to defrost its inner cargo. The frosty hills are still dark as hell. Somewhere hours away you’re waking up choking for coffee and running off moved by the efficient early metro buses, the graying slush, and the misty chandelier of streetlamps. Maybe next winter you’ll be here to coax me to put down the books before the too-long awaited dawn. Until then, Good morning. Goodnight.
subconscious-on-parade
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Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
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