It's snowing up north but raining here after a warm, calm cloudy day. I hear Deana's laugh and everyone passes from room to room, here and there, in pajamas and smiling and ready to linger.
It's raining out there and cozy in here, though I haven't written nearly enough.
Maybe I shouldn't mind. Maybe these are the nights I've always wanted.
I want to think that I am elevated. Hardly parallel yet far too similar circumstances come to us still. Someone makes a metaphor of melody.
I have come to understand you better.
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