Bedroom Entanglement

Recently, I've been all about off-the-shoulder sweaters and glasses while reading late at night.

There is nothing better.

Lost-in-a-sweater with thigh high opaque socks, a spill of hair tied ridiculously on the top on my head, and panties as obscene as they are silky to be seen by no one but my locked bedroom door and tangle of sheets.

What can I say? I'm in my Book Romancer stage.  It's something I do from time to time when I feel like there have been too many people scratching at my door, talking at me on my phone, or simply expecting too much from me.  I reach my tipping point, grab the most brain-tantalizing book I can get my fingers on (The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón as the case is, currently), and march directly into my room. I lock the door, shut off the phone, and make a promise to myself to never come out again.  I make vague checklists in my head pondering the viability of this plan between the chapters that I read (where will I pee? who will pay my rent? can one live off of books if one eats every page after they read it? i won't miss the outside world. is it cheating if I email to have a pizza delivered through my window?) and eventually, fall asleep: my defiant face pressed half upon my pillow, half upon the beauty of a thick and printed page.

(pause)

Other than that: I feel myself craving salt and pepper hair'ed adventures again as of late.  I am mid-air (think: trapeze), knees slipping from the novelty of fresh faced babes as my hands reach to grasp the smoke-laced creak and season of older spines.




Be well; be loved. 


-k.

(photo by reka nyari via slimgrape tumblr)