Daytime Visions

I don’t remember who, but I was talking to somebody about the hardness of water, the softness of it, the way it can take things over with just atoms in space, in time. Watching them peel back the thin metallic paper that wrapped around the butter, thinking that must hurt, thinking of how awfully cold everything in the fridge must be. I rest my head, heavy from the dense leaves and ripening fruit inside it, on the warm wooden countertop, feeling small crumbs and other fractions of breakfast press their sharp edges into my face.

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(Extract from a longer piece, which I'm looking forward to sharing with you.)