• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 07
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Dents of past dreamers leave small valleys between cotton peaks. The soapy scent of fresh linen blends with that of earthy, weary heads. A strand of black hair: coiling and curling. A little weight left behind.
A pillow -flattened by the load of a front-faced sleeper collapsing, fully clothed, having longed all day for soft support. Face and body sinks into the welcoming oblong, snoring muffled to a warm echo in the ribcage; which rises and falls like the night tide.