Thursday, March 19, 2009

Bundle in the Belly




A young pregnant woman stands waiting for the walk signal at the intersection between my apartment and the city center. Her short dark hair is tied back messily as she picks lint from her swollen sweatered stomach. I watch her with jealousy.



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I am a note. You are a note. Every moment is a chord, or a jangled collection of notes. Present moments are harmonious, while disconnected, ...