•3 weeks ago•
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The notebook was still open when I woke, ink dried in half-finished sentences. I'd fallen asleep mid-paragraph again, trying to pin down something that felt true about the way memory works—how it smooths over the rough edges of a moment until only the shape remains.
Outside, the rain had started before dawn. Not the dramatic kind that drives people indoors with urgency, but the patient, methodical rain that settles in for the day. I made coffee and stood at the window, watching water trace the same paths down the glass.
Repetition,