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  • Writer's pictureJan Avellana

I sat and listened to the hum of the fans this morning. Fat raindrops like a can of marbles, splattering off the eaves of this old house. Rain water flooding the sidewalk outside my north window, the one with the rotting sash. With scribbled lines across this new journal, I spread out like a man on a crowded train and melted into this open space, oblivious to the piles of work around me. “So this is what it is like to be in love,” I think to myself. My only mind was to still myself. I listened feverishly to the fresh sounds of morning. There was so much life calling to me the bird with her melody and tremor, the clapping of the rain pelting the ground, the spreading glow of this new day.

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