# 43

Today I see the world through a haze, my life a dirty window on a busy urban street. My mouth swollen silent, my hair a mass of static electricity. Everything is drying up. The pine tree I have conversed with all year will never last until Christmas.

I am downstairs watering the impatiens, thinking that I am less lonely than I have been lately. I am humming “pretend you’re happy when you’re blue.”

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