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The rain is tinkling down my window like so many tiny clear glass marbles.
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I'm thinking about a quiet rainy morning with nowhere to go: the clean-smelling cool breeze, the gentle pattering. All around, sleeping automobiles. Sometimes one awakens to pass by- a short adventure to anywhere but here.
Here.
Not quite alert, with my head in the curve of your neck. The beautiful scent of you and the morning. I can't see your freckles, but I know they are waiting for me to kiss them when I finally open my eyes. Like the pattern of the drops outside, they will not always be Here. Because one of us will want tea. Or it will suddenly be tomorrow or next week. I am still. You are warm. An automobile wanders. I sink into your breaths, hoping you sleep for a little longer.

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Such is my dream at my desk filing useless papers for useless people. For the success of the microeconomy.