I woke today with new eyes. What seemed to be hours of motionless laying against my pillow, was really a night spent solemnly playing tug of war on what seemed to be the geography of repeating thoughts. This sweet war, this week of inspiration, introspection and these outpours, swirled themselves into a velvet ribbon overnight and coaxed me out of bed with the promise of a day wrapped in a much prettier package then what was formerly boxed-up behind me.
And it was.
The sun hugged every inch of my occipital assault and continued to bleed bliss as the heavy hand of the clock struck and I let today ride in on the coattails of yesterday.
Moments after the seamless change, I set out on my now ritualistic walk after midnight. I was still wearing leftovers and proceeding to add layers of something new.
The night was pristine.
Spring in winter time. Silence except for my breath, the clickity-clack of the dog's paws and the muffled sound of the freight train in the distance. Not a soul in sight, but never feeling alone. It was a waltz on the pavement, look-up-and-take-it-all-in kind of night.
It was entrancing. A shadowy muse speckled with light from the sky and the few street lamps buzzing from their concrete or wood pedestals.
Strange and yet so familiar.
It made me feel like home.
It made me marinate in pleasant thoughts as I floated back to my front door. Moving in slow-motion: peeling off the cotton until my back was bare, twisting my hair into a knot worthy of a Goddard starlette and tucking myself in with these words and a Max Richter lullaby:
