I can’t find my glasses, and my eyes are in too much pain to replace them with contact lenses. The branches and the leaves in the trees all blur together into a Monet. When I try to look further, I see fragments of life; a wedding ceremony, but no marriage, a graduation and more professional attire but no specific job, a different city, with higher buildings, or maybe a farm but the precise geography escapes me. My future is trite and unacknowledged, a large canvas with blurry trees and an uneven landscape where the sky dissolves into the horizon, an impossibly vague Monet.

 

Veronica

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