There’s so much magic, I am yet to see

so much magic

I have a writing book

with perforations on the side

where it’s bound by a wire comb.

As I sit writing in it,

on a table with a glass top,

the sun falls in through the window.

The warmth

bounces off the white floor tiles,

filters through the glass top,

trickles up the perforations

and conjures a charm-cookie on my wrist.

It takes me by surprise.

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