This past month has been about taking things slow. It has been a month of basking in the beautiful words of others, rather than pressing myself to churn out letters. It has been a month of deep breaths, long walks, and trying to let the future take its own course, even though being still is the hardest thing to do.

I miss writing though, so here we go, a quick sketch of my morning:

The phone chimes, first a few calm rings, then building to an urgent crescendo. I struggle to rise from the warm weight of my blanket. The blinds are up as always, and I take a quick peek outside through my half-opened eyes. The tendrils of first light reaches gently through my windows, a different scene altogether from the roiling sea of grey yesterday.

As I step out of the steamy shower, skin fresh even as my brain remains dull, the whir of the coffee machine tells me breakfast is almost ready. A sip of the bitter brew, a bite of bread slathered in jam. Most days, I do not have the luxury of a languid breakfast, but today is one of those days where time is on my side. The sun is fully up now, lighting the sky in a glorious blue.

Morning rush on the train. I try to secure a nook away from the swarm of harried commuters, even as the crowd ebbs and flows around me. Thank goodness my stop is second on the line. The journey flies by if I have a good book in hand. Today though, I turn to my phone, feeling slightly guilty for succumbing to the lure of Facebook. In a few minutes, the sway of the train lulls me to sleep.

“Next station, Botanic Gardens.” Ten more minutes to the start of another work day.


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