My father was a somniloquist; he only talked to me in his sleep. Lured at night by his one-sided conversation one room over, I would escape the cot I'd grown out of, gaze at my sleeping mother, and
...
[+]
"Sometimes," he said, trimming a bud,
"You have to interfere.
But every other time,
you simply let it grow,
'cause that's the point of life."
And I scratched my head.
"Yeah, but how then can you know
when best to interfere?"
He smiled, and then he turned away.
"You have to interfere.
But every other time,
you simply let it grow,
'cause that's the point of life."
And I scratched my head.
"Yeah, but how then can you know
when best to interfere?"
He smiled, and then he turned away.
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