Tuesday. Not even mid-week. We’ve just barely started. I keep thinking of putting my hands on the sky, like it’s a ceiling, and lifting it up. Peer through the gap. And I can breathe! Then the ceiling cracks. Shattered fragments of sky, crumbling and falling all around me. I blink and find myself in a room, white on the walls, white from the ceiling to the floor, white against my naked skin (but that isn’t the point). And I sit, knees to breasts, lips to the nook they make. It stretches into the quietest silence—

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