The first seven seconds.
Shrill of birds.Sunlight sensed through shut eyelids.
Rustle of my own breathing, in... then out.
Soft moan.
Burrow of my head into the pillow,
In a vain attempt to return to that blissful state of obliviousness.
Conscious yet not awake.
For that ephemeral trickle of time
Nothing exists beyond bedlinen, haziness, tranquility,
Contentment.
Before the boulder of the world returns to Atlas' shoulders
Likewise this shortlived ecstasy of mine.
[Nota bene: Just seven more sleeps, seven more sleeps...]
posted by me. @ 1:42 PM
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