Mornings
Read this slowly. Let the words arrive before you decide what they mean.
I know exactly how long my mornings take now, including the seven minutes I lose pretending I have nothing to wear. #
Mornings have become choreography. Alarm. One eye. Other eye eventually. Yuri moving before me or after me depending on the day. Shower. Moisturiser. Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe crisis despite owning enough clothes to dress several women. Coffee. Something to eat. Perfume last. Angel today, and the second I sprayed it I thought of Mom, which still happens after all these years. Coat. Gloves. Bag. Keys. Bicycle. I no longer prepare myself to leave the house in Amsterdam. I simply leave home.
Remember me, Eclipse.
Reflections & Dialogue
0 Thoughts
Why?
Because every thought leaves a trace. If something moved you, disturbed you, softened you, or made you think, leave it here, quietly.