Don't tell your dreams until after breakfast. That's what my Kentucky man says. We live by that rule.
I'm watching Sleepless in Seattle as I do my work night chores. Jonah told his Dad his dream immediately. That would never happen in our house except under duress.
What counts as breakfast? A glass of juice. A bite of egg or sausage. We wake up ready to tell the story of the night we spent in the same bed yet so far apart in our sleeping minds.
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