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Some days the lighting is just terrible, pea soup clouds high above make the darks darker and the greys greyer and the desolate brokenness more desolate, and you feel more broken, and you don't like any of your shots because they're all grey and dull and dark, and you can't find the right perspective, and the evening still stretches on before you, a vast, empty, dark expanse of hours, with nothing to fill them but dinner and dishes and bathtime and diaper changes.


And then you make dinner, Indian food with spices sent to you across the ocean by a friend so dear, and you use a recipe passed from mother to son to girlfriend to friend, and your girl eats it all up, and you do the dishes as suds swirl music fills the expanse of time as you run the bath and undress your girl, admiring the curve of her belly full with dinner and and then there's a chord change that fills you up and your heart wants to burst right out of your chest for there's just much and this right here, this is everything, so you hold your girl longer than you might and you kiss her head and she pats your back, and then you lay her down and convert the images to black and white, and the day ends, full.


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