Blurs

I’m standing at the bus stop. 7:30 and the pink sun blurs.  I’m standing at the bus stop and a piece of my soul breaks off, blurring into the pink sun.  The piece is gone and gone forever.  What’s for dinner? I’ll come home and sink in the couch and watch a game and say yes dear and suck in air and let out a whoosh and flick off the lights at midnight.

Tomorrow is another 7:30.  Which piece will break off next?