A Portal to Natasha

It is Saturday morning, 8:00 AM. I’m exiting the bathroom to go back to bed.

I look down at my feet; black socks with tiny grey spots.

Bright white morning light is streaming through blowing curtains onto the large bed where a woman lays wrapped in white sheets with a young child. One of her arms is exposed, revealing smooth caramel skin. Her head is turned the other way.

My vision is as through a wavy glass tube-like portal; everything in my periphery is distorted.

And I think, “I’m not married! Whose house is this?!”

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