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A matter of time

Come write, she said, and nudged me onto the stage. I shivered momentarily, blinked into the glare of the lights, scrabbled for a costume. Held up a few against me. They revealed stories I wasn’t ready to tell. Til I found the small spotted thing, just so, in the right dimensions.
It started ten years ago, with some scrap fabric. Offcuts. Dark red, with black spots. Fluffy as novelty handcuffs from Harmony. I wanted it for a hot water bottle cover, but there wasn’t enough for more than one side. So the other side was dark blue. It’s just a matter of time, I thought, before I find some fabric that can cover the whole thing. But the patched-together one was soft, comforting. And kept turning up, at the right moment, usually in winter.
Later, in Rome, someone laughed at it. Coccinella To my surprise, I knew the word. And liked its feel. Secretive, concentrated. Feminine but carnivorous.
I keep meaning to change it. To reveal … something else. And perhaps it is just a matter of time. Watch this spot.

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