Excerpt

Frida Kahlo

"Ada's dreams smelled like fire.  They floated away like Chinese paper lanterns if she didn't write them down.  She had to trap them with a pen.  That was how it started.  Not a journal, exactly, but a deck of index cards, scribbled over with encounters..." 


I've been getting up before the sun lately.   It's a different world when almost everyone else is still asleep.  And words are different, too, closer to dreams.  A good time for pages. 

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