Fragile Monday

March 4, 2013

The sad, low moan of the coffeemaker announced the arrival of Monday morning. Outside, tandem pigeons dipped and rolled as if they’d choreographed their flight. Everything felt brittle: the light through the kitchen curtains, the dry toast, the china cup she carried around the apartment as she gathered her thoughts for the week ahead. It had been the sort of weekend that left her with so many questions that their very weight threatened to shatter her into pieces before she even left the house.

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