The Junction
Published in

The Junction

— an anecdote of potpourris.

Dews, Rays, Eggs and Pancakes.

May you feel the same.

Photo by Alban Martel on Unsplash

The half-opened blinds mark the entrance of the luminous morning rays, arousing me slowly from my slumber. Droplets of dews greet the windowsills alongside each glistening beam, making it seem like all the light were cavorting — teasing my weary eyes. Jolly little rays, I need a minute!

After a few minutes of resisting, I finally acquiesced. Each of my fingers and toes took their time to roam through the sheets, to regain every bit of consciousness they need for the day. I respire to the gentle morning breeze, satiating my lungs altogether. I’m finally awake.

My morning routine — without the shower — takes exactly 17 minutes. 17 minutes of serenity in tubes and bottles, displayed next to my 22 minutes worth of tranquil nights. My self-care has never been stronger.

I egress my chambers only to be greeted by a lingering aroma. The sweet and savory have intertwined — indulging my senses and lightening my steps all at once. Tantalized, I was, wanting more.

I wish that each staircase I decent from could see what form I imagine the scrumptious scent would be today. Is it brewed or deep-fried? Or simply poured and mixed? Might be baked! Whatever she might be, I’m all hers.

I came to a standstill at the last staircase, leaning my body to relish my most treasured morning panorama: Him, fluently flowing about throughout the kitchen. My favorite morning hello. It took a few minutes until I finally make my way to my usual spot, just to be greeted by how I like my eggs, scrambled.

He followed not so long after, with one hand holding a plate full of pancakes and a jar of maple on the other. He never lets me take my own portion; he split ours equally. He never fails to miss how much I’m capable of consuming — how little things matter to me.

I have no slightest care towards each grain of salt that pranced over my eggs and neither did he, with the almost overflowing maple roving the surface of his pancake.

I have no slightest care towards the unopened envelopes nor to our phones that buzzes ceaselessly.

We are infatuated however, by each exchanged gleaming gaze. Our hands were caressing and our eyes were traversing each other’s soul. Each of our senses was once again, untroubled. A smile was carved both at our faces and hearts, the warmth was present in the in-between.

No matter how rough our sleep nor our day was, I’d long for our mornings. A haven of ours which never fails to enthrall, our little Avalon of rapturing bliss.

May this always be how our day begins,
May it always stays like this.

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