I like the way the morning feels,
a certain hope mixed with stiffness, and warmth.
The light is grey, and sad. Sundays are quiet.
Today is no different, it rained last night.
everything is shinning and so many colored leaves litter the ground.
My room is messy, in an orderly way.
it feels lived, built up, with a few stray socks and a quickly made bed.
The same way there is some trash on the streets,
or crumbling bricks. People live here,
we are complicated, and time has worn holes in some of our clothes.
No comments:
Post a Comment