The only sound now is the snap-click of a record ending and the scratch-slide of my pen.
Holiday lights illuminate the living room perfectly; the plants, the couch, the dog and the paintings all wrapped up in the softness of shag carpet underfoot.
A royal blue pair of costume sunglasses hang from the lampshade, the only remaining evidence of the state of this same room just 24 hours ago.
Now I sink into these couch cushions, slowly inhaling the heavy peaceful calm.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat.
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