Could one be living in joy and not noticing it slightest? I would say that is often so.

Image by cai_

Sartuday morning peeked in, my bedroom was filled with the smell of hot radiator panel. Against my skin, there was another. It was alien and familiar to have that touch. It is like an acknowledgement. I turned away to confront the depth of my pillow, drawing in a deep breathe. Everything was comfortable.

I found my mind still. It is so often the case these days. I am learning to accept this is the norm.

I sat up and looked down to my bed fellow, bedding shrouded him and heaved along his repose. He was right in the middle of the bed. I found myself in far corner of the bed, taking up my usual 1/5 of the bed. It seemed that I am consistent in taking up a smallest bit of a bed as possible to sleep.

I left him to his retirment and exited the room. The flat was tranquil and the sun pouring in against a high pressure blue sky. I wished there was the daffodils in the living room to complete the composition. Instead I settle with a murder of small perky lemon in my morning tea.

The early morning is my refugee, my oldest friend. The stillness is seductive and mysterious. Even in the tempest of my mind, I always enjoyed the acknowledgement of the arrival of a morning.

In a windowless room to the sound of beeping machines of a hospital bed, the digital wall clock alerted me to 5:45 am and peace would margically wash over. The pain in your neck you woke up to crying yourself to sleep on the kitchen floor hightened as you titled your head to see 7:03 am on the oven clock. The lover’s kiss at the virgin sun emerging at the tiptoes of a boat edge on water, my watch pointed to 4:23am. I was never a fan of sleep, the only incentive was to pass the time to see the morning. Time is a man-made construct, a feeble idea that no one questions in the mundane. It reserved to the few who prefer elbow patches on clothing despite a respectable salary from intellectual institutions.

I passed my fingertips along my cold shoulders as the boiler burped into action. I could hear a gentle snoring from my flatmate. This is the time in a day to be lost in thoughts.

illustrated by cai_

I sneaked back to my bed, to find a sleepy embrace.

Looking for writer for butterface, a tag-team type discourse between curious minds. Find out more here and email
Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated cai_’s story.