One of those days. Cooped up in a darkened room. Black oversized tshirt and grey track pants. Bloated. Sadistic uterus on a torture spree. Umpteen cups of ginger tea. Lying in bed, listening to chirping birds, losing track of time. Aching for home. A book comforts for a couple of hours. Work forgotten. Inertia worshipped. Solitude. Sleep. Slowness. No thoughts. No plans. No ‘to-do’ list to strike off. Everything awaits behind the bulging door of tomorrow. But today I give up and crave quiet companionship more than my usual preference for solitude. I want someone to make me another cup of ginger tea, hold me, listen to ‘wild heart‘ on my old ipod, and whisper stories throughout this long, blue, autumnal night. But then, its so difficult to realise simple wishes. Definitely, one of those days.
Dialect of Heart 