miðvikudagur, nóvember 01, 2006


She's been between. She thinks she's back now. She might be, at least. Aren't journeys always between? This one was.

There was an extra hour between two others. She was grateful for it during and after.

Now the days are between. They begin in the dark and they end in the dark. In the middle the glow of the screen, the scratch of the pen, the brush of paper.

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