The birds chirp. I feel morning dew in the cool air, and breathe it in as if it were all I need. This is all I need. The thoughts inside me are usually so loud they crowd my head and tug at my limbs. The turbulence is set free. I am so different now, with a quiet soul and a sound mind. Everything I have is everything I will ever have. Everything I am is everything I will ever be. I stare at the hidden complexity of the land. Although at first glance it would seem to be simply a manicured acre of grass, sifted through for weeds and such to succumb to it's desire to be pure, each blade is constructed and grown, bearing a heavy blanket of dew and mist. The fog impedes my old eyesight and puts a blurry filter over the world, as if somebody breathed on the window of life and drew a little heart on it. The steaming kettle whistles out the kitchen window, alerting me that it's ready to be prepared. I heed to it's command and calmly walk through the screen door, not bothering to close it. I pour steaming water into a mug and plop an earl grey tea bag in after it. The chipped paint on the cupboards tell a faint story of what used to be. Through the breeze, I hear a red farm truck pull into the gravel driveway, and a man steps out. My husband. My sweet, sweet love. He has come back from the market, carrying milk and bread. I rush out to help him, and he gives me a delicate kiss planted on my cheek. We gaze into eachothers eyes for a few seconds, then I go to grab the remaining bags. As we get inside, he starts to tell me everything about the new world. Apparently people are protesting. Good for them. Anything compared to the starving and beaten children who grazed the dry alleyways is an improvement. A memory comes, then fades as I blink it away. No. This is my life now. The past is the past, and it cannot be changed.
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