Brand New Day

Every­thing was dim and blur­ry, like most morn­ings before she found her glass­es and had her first man­hat­tan. It used to be that one or the oth­er would suf­fice to bring the world into focus, but not any­more. Those had been sim­pler times, when she still had some mem­o­ry of past hap­pi­ness. Now there was only the impres­sion of past mis­takes, and even that was break­ing down and meld­ing into a gen­er­al malaise that crowd­ed every cor­ner of her emo­tion­al vision.

She used to feel a ten­sion each day: the uncer­tain cusp of hope that, with her­culean effort or a stroke of dumb luck, things might still turn around. Today she just felt her way to the kitchen and groped about for the shak­er, hop­ing she had remem­bered to refill the ice cube trays.

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