Collecting summer mornings


I wake up to the sound of chirping birds. The rustling leaves are creating the perfect atmosphere to fall back asleep, surrendering to the softness of warm sheets and lazy dreams. Only then, a tender breeze sneaks through the sheer curtains, invading my nostrils with that summer smell, a blend of roses and fresh dew, childhood memories and lost time everlastingly being found. So I smile and get up, letting last night’s dreams become fleeting reminiscences I will aimlessly uncover and forget once more.

And I make myself a coffee, mingling sweet swirls of cream with the richness of black, savoury brew. You always tell me my coffee tastes like cupcakes, while I say yours tastes like dirt. But that’s just like how we are, two opposite sides of the same coin. The past colliding with the present, trying to build a future for two.

I grab my notebook, making my way to the backyard. As I write, I don’t think of the times I used to climb the very tree under which I now let letters form words on paper that would keep me sunny when the future storms would crack open hopes blossomed under city lights, like colorful petals scattered on the sidewalk. Nor do I think about how things have changed, even though they feel the same. Change is good. Change means growing, like vines twirling towards the sky, striving to feel the sun envelop them. Humans are just like that, always craving change, but longing for everything they left behind.

But today, I don’t long for anything. Today, I’m just collecting summer mornings. And I stop to smell the flowers. And I don’t realize my coffee’s gone cold.




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