In the morning after I wake up, before I open my eyes, I see the home. I see waves on a cerulean ocean. I see sun. I see golden hills. Golden in the sense of chocolate chip cookies. Burnt grass dotted with chocolate bushes. I stand on the top of a ridge and watch as the heat refracts the surrounding hills.
At night projecting on my eyelids before unconsciousness takes me, I see the fading light of the summer sun. The world bathed red and orange as the world is lit ablaze in ebbing day. I see late nights spent in a dimly lit room. Irish car bombs. flaming dr peppers. love. drinking games and jokes. Huddles on the front lawn and speeches. Friendship.
54 days and this morning
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