I sat in my car with a stolen puzzle piece in cupped hands. A picture edge-fragment, made of cerulean clouds and jagged seams. I pondered the piece and wrote a 5AM note with yearning as my ink. Tired scribbles that weighed down the paper through raw sincerity. I vowed to return the little segment home another night. After the sky had turned cotton candy pink from a thousand wildfires in the bay. While my porcelain doll slept a sleep of abandon.
10:29 p.m. - 2015-09-14
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