Day Thirteen: Morning

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It’s difficult to like mornings, when you have to tear yourself from rest to do something else. Sometimes, if you sleep too late you start to feel a bit guilty. Just a little, though. Strange how the mind works, eh?

Ach, maybe, at the age of 25, I’m destined to never get used to them.

A poem.

That hazy time when you’ve just woken up,
And you can’t see everything in colour
Yet.
You reach for the blade; too clumsy just now.
Electric is fine.

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