Oh I'm sorry I must have been busy in the kitchen, but the door was open and you obviously just walked right in and made yourself at home.
I've been feeling reasonably quiet lately. By lately I mean as far back as I can remember without brain-effort. So yesterday. A bit musey and contemplatey and all I really want to do is read books, and take baths and snuggle under sheets feeling snugglywarm and clean.
Clean is such a lovely feeling. I think it's my favourite.
And maybe that sounds sterile and slightly obsessive compulsive, but it's not actually about being germ free. It's about slipping between a pair of sheets that are white enough to make everything else look old and dingy, sheets that have never, ever been used by anyone.
And they're perfect and new. It's ok to overstate newness, things only get to be new for such a little time.
And you've just spent a while covering yourself in warmth and sweet scented bubbles, which perhaps were rose and cardamomy and scrubbed off everything that happened that day.
Until there's nothing left but pink new skin and possibilities.
New sheets on new skin. And wet hair on the pillow.
Best feeling. Best time of the day.
And if someone could arrange for it to rain while I fall asleep, thank you.
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