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sometimes i think just one sunny day would cure me of everything.

other days i think pills and tonics and treatments are lies that i continue to swallow.

most days i just daydream about last summer when our tiny sunfish 

for a friend

i picture you some days – a utensil in one hand and your cheek

in the other, gazing somewhere in the distance as your

submission for next year's prompts:

Use the NY Times Connections as a writing prompt! Take all 16 or one line of the words generated in there (before it's been solved) and use them in a poem or short story.