The first time I blogged this I messed it up please read the whole story.
Morning to her was a process that took time and a self-forcefulness that sometimes just wasn’t there.She would awake slowly eyelids peeled apart and rubbing the sleep out of her grey-blue eyes and she’d look around her at the calm arctic blue walls. Then she would look at the pictograph of Emma and the young women right in the middle of the large picture frame. She would vaguely realize she knew where she was and that she was snug beneath a warm black duvet with little white flowers and crisp white sheets.
She would begin her visual journey around the room taking in every detail wrinkling her noise and wishing she had a tooth-brush right then and there. Then as gossamers of light began to make their way through the white roman shade she would yawn and cover her eyes with the back of her hand and become aware of…
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