Sunday, August 30, 2015

What Year Is It?

Despite my intentions to write more clearly, the words squeezing from my pen grow more and more indecipherable. 

"I'll just close my eyes for a second," I think, but the notebook is already flat on my chest, and I'm unable to keep my eyes open, regardless.

I awake an undetermined time later with the cat on my chest, flexing her needle-like claws through my shirt and into my skin.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask her, but she just blinks and purrs.

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