4:10pm, 23 September 2017
There is no dream to write down today.
But I will write about how I woke up to a morning that crept through cream-colored curtains and faded onto the same shade of cream-colored floors. How I opened my eyes to the sound of your voice and your breath on my neck. How the whole day felt like one long-drawn morning, waking up to changing shades of faint daylight and getting pulled back under the sheets again and again.
I will write about the clouds because you asked me to. But this will not be long because today, the sky is just a white sheet. Not blue nor gray, not periwinkle nor aubergine. On your side of the bed, I could set my sights on the hills of your childhood, rows of rising curves against a colorless sky. The afternoon light is tame. There are no streaks of sunlight that glow against glass windows. There is no grayness pregnant of thunder and rain. The sky is a white sheet. Cool and warm at the same time. It tells us, time is still now. Bask in the moment of stillness, of here and now.