the day after
The day after I turned 44.
There's a subtle excitement within. I'm laying on the couch, front windows open and listening to the solitary baby bird outside screaming for its mother. There is little to no other sounds; not even the typical noise of the laptop fan.
Morning commute must be over as I hear no cars. No dogs barking, no children yelling and no pressure from guilty consciousness.
Hershey is restless sleeping at my feet, but her warmth is inviting.
Received a message from Randy last night, at least I think it was him. I don't have his nor Katie's number in my phone anymore. More symbolic than anything, but...it is what it is. I always thought broccoli was pretty, but not as pretty as that swivel shavings from pencils: all brown from the wood with a yellow edge like some flower as it falls away.
Chaotic thought patterns abound and I'm craving sauteed onions.
There's a subtle excitement within. I'm laying on the couch, front windows open and listening to the solitary baby bird outside screaming for its mother. There is little to no other sounds; not even the typical noise of the laptop fan.
Morning commute must be over as I hear no cars. No dogs barking, no children yelling and no pressure from guilty consciousness.
Hershey is restless sleeping at my feet, but her warmth is inviting.
Received a message from Randy last night, at least I think it was him. I don't have his nor Katie's number in my phone anymore. More symbolic than anything, but...it is what it is. I always thought broccoli was pretty, but not as pretty as that swivel shavings from pencils: all brown from the wood with a yellow edge like some flower as it falls away.
Chaotic thought patterns abound and I'm craving sauteed onions.
posted by Robbie at
9:16 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home