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i got nothing

4 Mar

Not a minute ago, I was standing in the kitchen, staring off into space without a topic to write on tonight. I could, I thought, write about this–me, making a salad. But it wasn’t interesting enough, and it didn’tmean anything. Also, I wasn’t so much making a salad as I was slicing tomatoes and tearing apart lettuce with my bare hands and throwing them together in a colander. I could write about the rain and the way it’s been constant and heavy for hours, the waterfalls I could see on the Ko`olaus if I went outside when the sun was somewhere around here, or the way I sloshed through the dark, the rain, and deep puddles as my non-waterproof mascara gathered in small black pools atop my lashes. But once I get to my socks, soaked through my shoes, I got nothing.

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