The small pieces of lint clumped in my pocket keep tricking me into thinking that they are something exciting.
Like a long lost pair of favorite earrings or half disintegrated love note, heck even some spare change, got lost in the pocket of this coat. My fingers find the ball of lint, once again, and I can’t help but pull it out to look at it. As if, perhaps, this time it will be something I want it to be. No. It’s still lint. But, if you look closely, it’s kind of shaped like a dog. 🐕
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