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A Saturday Morning


The day is bright and gay.
It is a beautiful morning of saturday.
I am writing on a lined orange paper.
I have a cup of milk and the breeze is cooling me.
The birds are chirping and happy.
The wind is picking up speed.
I am lazily seated on the balcony.
I am thinking of going out and do something nice and cozy.
I am hearing the mechanical whirring of cars passing by.
They lull me.
Maybe I will do my laundry.
The thought flashes, it cringes me.
The milk feels cold in my mouth.
Maybe I can listen to music.
But I don't want to move and stop this scribbling calming my fury.
This is a good day to do nothing.
To seat on a chair and write using pen and paper.
To not listen to people and be kind.
To let my mind wander and fly.
This is the perfect day to stop all the negative thoughts linger.
To stop hating and start feeling the breeze.
To see the rays of the sun striking the pavement giving it colors and warming my heart.
It is a nice day to stop for a while.
To not overthink things and feel the cold milk lashing on my tongue.
This is a good day to see the world in a new light.
To not see the hopelessness, fear and pain.
This is a beautiful day to love.
To feel my heart having a new and exciting rhythm.
This day is beautiful.
It is alive.
I am alive.
It feels so good.
I can feel everything.

Someone is knocking on the door.
I may need to go after all.

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