It was raining, and the laundry had piled up, and the shelves
of the fridge had been cleared by your ravenous children,
and the car needed new break pads, and the wiring of the light fixture
in the upstairs hallway looked ominously frayed, and it’s likely
there was a small leak in the roof, and the grout between the bathroom tiles
was freckled with mold. Nevertheless there you were, in the middle of it all,
tilting your attentions elsewhere, eyes closed against the advancing cataclysm,
your heart stubbornly ablaze. There would always be some stain crawling
across the walls; few ceilings would resist the buckle of weather or time. Gravity always wins in the end. But what of this suspended in-between? 
Anything is possible.

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