Weblog entry:
- A day, still
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She looks up from her easel, asks what you’d said. Knee-deep in a client’s site, you sort of half-look away from your keyboard, shake your head slightly — you hadn’t said anything — and keep typing. Satisfied with this answer, she turns back to her sketchpad. For an hour or two, you spin in your separate orbits, rarely looking up toward the other’s. At one point, your hand knocks a notepad to the floor, and her eyes leap up — surprised? annoyed? — from her work. A moment later, the work resumes; you sip from your coffee, she from her tea, and the house falls silent. Throughout it all, the stereo shuffles songs of love and disaffection through the space between you.
The hours tick by like a metronome: quiet, sure.
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