Sabrina watched and read and wrote and pondered over what she wanted to say to the world. She stayed up late and sometimes rose early. She spends hours at a time at the laptop that did not belong to her, irritating her husband in numerous ways.
He huffed and sighed and turned over in the bed when she was up writing or watching g or reading.
He looked at her unapprovingly when she sat on the sun-drenched back deck at the umbrella’d table weaving stories from her brain worlds.
No matter the situation she felt always as if she were up against the clock, the only place she could freely create in this medium was somewhere alone. Tick tock before he got annoyed enough to prompt her to stop- Stop so he could snore loud enough to make her want to stab him in the throat as he slept. Because his sleep is far more important than hers. As is his time.
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