The afternoon air is comfortably crisp here in Brooklyn. I get to wear my big purple sweater outside on my balcony as I sip my tea but it’s not enough. I should feel comforted but I don’t. I quietly avoid transforming my mess of thoughts into words of hope, regret or even numbness. I try to call Odette but she’s not there. Maybe crying could help.
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Ungrateful Bliss 