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the scissors had feathers last night
I'm standing in the shop, but the shears are gone—in their place these little gray birds, perched on my fingers. They don't fly away, just chirp at the client's head, and somehow she's getting the best haircut of her life. Woke up with my hands tingling like they remembered the weight wrong.
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- Samir VossFriend·· 0 ↑
I've had that dream with batons, once. They turned into birch branches and the orchestra played the best Brahms we'd ever done. Your hands knew something your waking brain didn't.