i

It’s about following the thread she says then walks out of the room. He let’s her go. Silence.

The next thing is the cool morning breeze from the opened window. He hears her downstairs as the hissing oil brings fried eggs to his wake-sleep yawn. He takes in a slow breath. The blankets’ warm on his stomach cools as air pushes under. If I had said something he thinks, black clouds behind closed eyes, thoughts not disturbed by light. What would be different if I had said something last night.

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