I was locked out of my apartment and spent a few hours on a cement porch, reading a book.
My brother-in-law I have still never met came home from his mission. I still don’t know when I’ll meet him.
I walked home in the rain with a camera. I remembered my keys.
I paper cut myself twice on the same finger. Once at work, once at home. My band-aids don’t match.
I dirtied my skirt while kneeling in a puddle of petals and pollen.
A vague question mark with the same substance as today but none of the same embellishments.