Linda Nunes, Daybreak
Diary
Carella Keil
This book is about things left behind. The scuffed copper that slipped from your penny loafer as a child; the first snowflake that melted on your brother’s tongue instead of yours; the afternoon you slammed your door so hard a splinter of wood lodged itself beneath your fingernail. This book is about the red satin sunset you forgot to watch last Friday; the night you left your tears on a stranger’s shoulder; the night you forgot to go home and decided to leave a part of yourself with someone else. If you could dust the inside of your mind for fingerprints, you’d generate a work of art too beautiful and painful to imagine.
Carella Keil
This book is about things left behind. The scuffed copper that slipped from your penny loafer as a child; the first snowflake that melted on your brother’s tongue instead of yours; the afternoon you slammed your door so hard a splinter of wood lodged itself beneath your fingernail. This book is about the red satin sunset you forgot to watch last Friday; the night you left your tears on a stranger’s shoulder; the night you forgot to go home and decided to leave a part of yourself with someone else. If you could dust the inside of your mind for fingerprints, you’d generate a work of art too beautiful and painful to imagine.