the simple things in life. my basic needs.
white, brown, black, blue, oak, ceramic, slate, steel.
the sun is shining, the water blue, and the air warm.
my hair brushes aside as the fan oscillates a gentle breeze
the air tingles my skin
good morning sun rays.
my bed, my throne, all in white
sheets disheveled,
hanging from the bed
no time, no place, just here and now.
i'm free today.
my feet tip-toe across the wooden floor.
a response expected
creaks and groans, the floor has seen newer days, still beautiful tho
the inescapable scuffle sound suggests its time to sweep
i have a broom.
there's something about carpet that isn't simple.
cushy, perhaps, but intrinsically wrong
dirty even.
it suffocates my mind.
the floor must be bare. i walk haphazardly, i walk straight
in attempt to get to the kitchen
to pour a bowl of cereal, the reason i wake up
the bowl is too large, just the way i had planned,
but luckily the milk is almost out,
which is good. limits me
my eyes are always bigger than my stomach.
as i take the bowl back to my bed i think of my job,
my responsibilities, my salary, my place in life.
secured.
all made possible by me.
that makes me smile
as i sit indian-style.
yes i said indian.
i'm a part of this world independent of you. your thoughts and judgements. your problems.
independent of the rush on the street. independent of everyone.
depending on who's doing the measuring, i might not have as much as you. i might not be as good
but,
everything i do have, everything i am
is mine. and is perfect to me.
and it's as simple as that, really.
and that's all i need.
but i wish you were here.
