I woke up in the morning from a kiss on my shoulders. It was the wind, giving me soft blows, teasing me for all eternity to wrap my body with the sheets. I rolled over and embraced the warmth of my covers as the wind walks pass, each time with a tingly sensation.
I wanted to stay that way - trapped in one's silken fabric, dosed in serenity as if time has stopped for me to envelop in dreams.
But I was pushed out of my reverie by my screaming watchman, taking my calmed self back to the drippings on my floor. It was time to get dressed and march my way to class. So I lifted my heavy shoulders and tried to prick my eyes as if it would help me last the day when all I wanted to do is sleep.
It could be laziness. It could be the air brought by the rainy season, trapping me with each single dew to nothingness.
Forty minutes later, I found myself all washed up, walking towards the gate of no dreams. My first step landed on the swampy road which caused mud splatters at the back of my jeans. I hate it when it happens. I tried to move slowly but each step only brought splot, split, and plok on my worn out navy. And there on the streets where dreamers like me, with blotched pants and blank stares. I know what they are thinking. They wish they could curl back to bed.
I love rain for all the many reasons, the calmness it gives me. But I hate it when it takes me to a place of no worries only to have me pushed in the squishy underground of reality.
Now I have to catch each rain drop from the ceiling to the floor. It will be a long, cloudy day.
