Dot

Well, maybe, just maybe, dreaming something and to wake up in the morning finding the images of the dream were so vivid certainly not comforting. It's about one thick comfortable bed and an earth colored comforter with a long fluffy stuffed toy, and a dimmed light bulb with one heavy photography book by the side.

And the sound of Coldplay shuffling with Aqualung and Keane and Brighlight so eclectic and serene and the hum from the blower reminds me of Miami and the warmth reminds me of Rio.

And the door is closed, the TV in the hall is on and I am all alone and the kettle squealing the tears drop. For no reason.

I need to pop that yellow balloon. He hates that.

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