by Siena Oristaglio
I’m lying in bed listening to the sound of wasps gnawing at my windowsill.
It’s Saturday.
Sunlight sprawls sleepily across my pillow.
I blink into its glow.
I open an article from Harper’s on my phone.
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by Siena Oristaglio
I’m lying in bed listening to the sound of wasps gnawing at my windowsill.
It’s Saturday.
Sunlight sprawls sleepily across my pillow.
I blink into its glow.
I open an article from Harper’s on my phone.