They carried the weight of bills. Lost homes. Constant mobility.
We turned off lights. Silhouetted, these objects held new mystery, form, as if we truly owned life.
We almost covered the spots.
Friday Flash Fiction |
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For Christmas, we wrapped up all we owned. Tried to fill faded jeans, ripped nightgowns with new life.
They carried the weight of bills. Lost homes. Constant mobility. We turned off lights. Silhouetted, these objects held new mystery, form, as if we truly owned life. We almost covered the spots. Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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