the world is wet on a grey monday in north miami. the laundromat is filled with hot, moist air and spinning underwear.
new lives are exciting and dangerous. but at 4 pm with ten bucks worth of quarters tucked into your sweaty palm and the steady pour of rain as it hits the tin roof, it all feels quite calm.
unspecial.
mundane.
people talk quite a lot about adventures, but they never talk about the lazy monday's at the laundromat.
the sky is weeping but now, here, in this life, i am not.
drowning used to be my story.
now, as the droplets fall, i barely get wet.

// there's nothing dreamier than the month you move away from home.

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