Or the freaky things that live at crush-depth in the ocean. Things that are lumpy and flattened and never evolved any eyes.
I can't decide what to write about today.
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Maybe something about Christmas. Putting the tree up early to make sure it won't fall over again this year. Baking cookies.
Or the dreams, nervous and haunted, which come that night. The things that live at crush-depth of our hearts. Things that are lumpy and never evolved any eyes.
I can't decide what to write about today.
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There are entire television genres about the cookies and the nightmares. Nineteenth-century novels too. Massive oeuvres which strive to turn the two faces so they can see each other.
But that means pulling them apart.
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I can't decide what to write about today.
