my bed has become a writer's bed again.
books, journals, pens
spread amongst the overturned
underturned sheets
crinkled from last night's sleep
pages opened
highlighted
(never dog-eared)
to important bits
relearning
the way it feels to watch flames
dance on the white of the walls
toes digging in to warm sheets
relearning
this identity that is my own
recreating,
rebuilding,
renewing
remembering
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