“What do you think about the moment you wake up?”
Today, I woke up and listened to the sound of silence.
It was one of those mornings where you open your eyes and slowly writhe upside-down under the sheets until you can stick your head out on the other side.
It was one of those mornings where you can sense every square inch of fabric against the skin and squint your eyes into the sun and look at how the little invisible hairs bend as you breathe across your arm.
It was one of those mornings where you mash your face into the sheets until you can see colors in the eyes and listen to the floorboards under unknown soles gently creaking and a faucet somewhere running over a muffled baritone.
But I didn't answer the question did I.
“What do you think about the moment you wake up?”
Today, I woke up and felt a sharp pang somewhere underneath my breastbone.
It was one of those mornings where your heart overflows into your lungs and the harmonics pass through the molasses until there's no more room and you don't even try to understand what's going on anymore.
It was one of those mornings where the impressions and the floaters blurred back until stop.
It was one of those mornings.
But I didn't answer the question did I.