BlogEntry Placebo

In the summer mornings I feel legs pulling against mine – a trainer serving a track star – laps have been completed but the clock was not running, so again this one doesn’t count. Maybe next time. My cupboard is empty of sugar for coffee so you reach for what’s left of me from the shelves, small apologies that themselves feel unforgivable, drawing from a quarry already abandoned of its other bounties. We were not being cautious when we skipped breakfast and trusted too much in ideals.