Morning had not yet fit its fingers through the
cracks in the shutters nor was its reflection
visible in the face of the alarm clock,
but I could hear its footsteps in the stairwell,
the soft steps of autumn, creeping with an
inconsistent rhythm so cold were its toes.
cracks in the shutters nor was its reflection
visible in the face of the alarm clock,
but I could hear its footsteps in the stairwell,
the soft steps of autumn, creeping with an
inconsistent rhythm so cold were its toes.
feel like I just woke up
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