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And yet filled with voices and images from the past.
Days when all we begged for was a moment for ourself.
Children screaming,
cats that needed feeding,
doorbells ringing,
constant rushing here, there and everywhere.

A favourite escape ploy was behind a locked bathroom door,
savouring the hush, poaching in scented oblivion,
watching steamy swirls rise to the ceiling.

An escape route for an hour at best,
then opening the family tumult with the touch of a door knob.

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