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  • The end of another long week. Friday afternoon. We curl up in my bed, our nest. She wants to draw with the new pastels I brought home and then he climbs in to join. Together. We are all together again.
    Dogs barking. Traffic going down the street. The odd sound of a siren, every once in a while. Everyone is living their lives. Just living their lives.
    She's mad at it with the blue pastel while he draws with great intent. I know because he sticks his tongue out of the left side of his mouth when he is very focused. Their left hands whirl in what seems to be unison. Her hands become stained. I listen to her dust the powder left by the pastels off the page, knowing its landing on the bed sheets. I know I will roll in it tonight as I sleep. I don't care.
    We are together after they have been with their dad all week. I stretch out beside them on the bed and close my eyes. I feel the stillness of home, not the void of their absence, cradle me once again.
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