Is there a logic, a rule to all this coming and going, all this dislocation?

“It’s ironic, really. All my pleasures are homey ones: armchair splendor, the sedate excitements of domesticity. All I ask for are humble delights. A mystery novel in bed, the smell of Clare’s long red-gold hair damp from washing, a postcard from a friend on vacation, cream dispersing into coffee… the symmetry of grocery bags sitting on the kitchen counter waiting to be unpacked. I love meandering through the stacks at the library after the patrons have gone home, lightly touching the spines of the books. These are the things that can pierce me with longing when I am displaced by Time’s whim.
Clare’s low voice is in my ear often.
I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. 
And yet, I am always going, and she cannot follow.”

– Audrey Niffenegger

It’s morning. Yesterday is still alive as I am still surrounded by the same company of people. It’s funny when you hear a synchronized symphony of snores. It’s exactly an hour more to noon and still, nobody wants to embrace the morning sunshine. 2 hours before, I gave up on whining in a whispery tone, like a little girl trying to wake her parents so they’d take her out to play, explored the grand home, explored the kitchen and I indulged in yesterday’s grapes and chocolate along the stairs with a brilliant novel in hand. I know this chocolate-fueled happiness is short lived. 

Frou frou’s ethereal mixing goes well with mornings. 

My projects and assignments can’t go up in flames and that makes me sad. Saw R’s text message just a while ago and I recalled that we were supposed to have an online conference last night. I’m guilty as well as dreading the thought of not being to enjoy this short break. R, I’m gonna get down to it tonight.

“I look at my old pictures and I start to worry. For those smiles, they’re staged. I don’t have much memories to look back on.”



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