pleasures and luxuries

dear you,

it's a gray, chilly, sunday afternoon. all morning the clouds were teasing us with the potential of rain, but nothing ever fell from above.

my light pink desk is covered with unread books, this, that, and a flowered cup filled with peppermint tea.

my bed is made, exposing the small flowers that decorate my sheets. as i pause from writing, i debate whether or not i should take a nap... eh, it's too late. 5.05 already.

my small, wooden desk chair is holding my entire body up. i'm all balled up: sitting on one leg, perching my chin on the other.

every now and then i cough or sniffle--the final stages of sickness.

my lips are soft as i press them together. they taste like carmex. yuck.

as curls fall into my face i'm reminded of how long my hair is becoming. the constant debate of whether or not i should chop them off plays through my head.

the sound of rain finally watering the earth fills the silence of the house. hard onto the concrete it pat, pat, pats.

and here i sit, writing to you. this is what i do. this is my life. constantly filled with simple pleasures and luxuries.

sincerely,

shae