Saturday Morning Dèjavu

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Looking through my white lace curtain, I can almost see the bright skies. The smell of the morning becomes almost familiar. Then I thought I heard the sounds of a train on tracks, the honk of the train as it glides with friction underneath the tunnel. I remember the days when I was woken my them from under my heavy duvet as I cover myself up to my face avoiding the chill air in the room drying up my nostrils. Ah! That fresh smell of brand new clothes waiting to be rid of its price tag, waiting to be worn for the first time. Oh how I miss those mornings of no-agenda-laying-ahead yet hoping to see my love and wishing I would cross his mind and that he would make time to come see me.

Looking through my big window, I can almost see the huge windows of the apartment at Walthamstow. It’s definitely going to be a great weekend because I am convinced that a beautiful picture like this on a Saturday morning can only mean a new leaf is turning to me.

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