Morning

It was not as if he liked to wake up early.  He couldn’t help it.  He would prefer to sleep in and enjoy the full lull of his dreams, cradling him whole.  Instead his internal clock would jab him awake and the sun would pierce his his cocoons of unconscious thought.

He looked over to the girl sleeping soundly, as he wished he could, a Mona Lisa smile settled on her face that turned up a bit more every so often, and a murmur escaping her unconsciousness that sounded like “jello”.  Usually he’d try to read, write, or watch football– it was a habit he tried to break but the mornings came and went and came again.

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