​Walked home under a sky full of gray
— Midsummer sadness always brings heavy rain.
Walked slowly… No rush, not even a bit.
I wanted time to wonder if tomorrow is going to be
More of the same, as it always is


Fed the neighborhood cats, the stray and the wanderer;
Washed my hair…

(Listened to Sinatra while doing that)
Brushed out the curls, let it down. 

Saw my reflection and swore to myself
I could break a mirror or two, but I know
Everyone would say I’m still seventeen (nineteen on bad Mondays!). 
No lines or traces of sorrow,
Just dark circles and dry lips
Friday night, work tomorrow morning:
This shut-in stays home with a lot of free time
To indulge in nostalgia and old books,
Memories of ex-lovers and daydreams of future ones;
To ponder over this and that
And wish she could adopt those poor cats
Alone, always thinking
If tomorrow will be different.
Too much thinking
Has always been the worst of my habits


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