one Sunday morning as he contemplates the perfect moment:
a warm summer breeze from the garden, the scent of cherry blossoms, the chatter and giggles of his two young children from the nursery, and the sight of his young wife sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.
Münster “suddenly felt pain creeping up upon him: a chilling fear, but also a realization, that this moment must pass.
This second of absolute and perfect happiness—one of the ten to twelve that comprised a whole life, and was possibly even the meaning of it.
Chicago in spring
feet dangling off the bar stool
seated by the kitchen countertop.
chinese stir fry and 25 dollars prosecco
dancing shadows cast by moving vehicles
tall bay windows and muted greys.
when the universe and all desires collided
to create a silent moment of absolute perfection
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