a writing exercise

I wrote this today during a workshop. Still a little rough, but maybe?

The sadness of having to go home on Sunday afternoons could typically be mitigated by recalling time I had spent with Lancelot on Saturday afternoon, cuddling in a blanket fort. His gray whiskers tickled with every delicate kiss. Punctuated with smiles, those beaming, glowing, face-splitting smiles that started with his lips and spread instantly to his brilliant blue eyes. Kissing Lancelot was like being allowed unlimited access to every feel-good drug known to man, and not having any side effects. His grizzly bear outer wrapping was a clever ruse. Inside he was gentle, sensitive, and kind. I have never known a kinder being trapped in a broken container. But his brokenness complimented my own and together it felt like perhaps we would figure out how to make a single cohesive image.

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