I'm already back. To my shabby house. My dried fruit. My solitude. My silence. My next step.

I'm already missing, with cutting loneliness, my sister's voice and the delicate, rare touch of her child.

And I can't help but notice the emptiness, no, the simplicity, of my life. Arg. I have given myself this. What I wouldn't do for a little complication. A little noise.

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