Two-Part Morning
Thursday, March 19, 2026
Two parts of a dream:
I go to take your mask off, but it’s not a mask. You cringe in pain.
I become HR wherever I work because I’m a story succubus. You are compelled to tell me everything.
I rise with a story or idea, a song or character raging in my brain. Or it intrudes during zazen. Or wind flings it against my window like rain. It does not belong in the WIP so I put it here.