Knocking

Knocking

Knocking

There’s a summer wind blowing through my October window again. It shouldn’t be, but it is. And it’s not really blowing. It’s knocking. It’s pulsing. And the curtain is dancing and it might be annoying or it might be romantic, I can’t tell, and the door is shut, but it’s loud and it’s bothered. The last time the door acted like that was when I locked my blind dog outside of the room and she didn’t know exactly what she wanted but she knew she wanted to be inside of this room and not outside. The door is acting like that, but my dog is sleeping on the ground and she doesn’t even care. And I’m lying in bed with that summer breeze hitting my shoulders and I like it. I don’t care that it’s October and that the wind is telling me it’s about to get colder. In the distance there is lightning, but not here. In here, it’s just a normal night, and that wind is blowing through the window and trying to get out of the door but the door isn’t having it.

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