Good morning. It's roughly ten in the morning the day after a national holiday. I can hear a few cars on the street outside my house, but not many.
As much as some may have strong feelings about the holiday season- for, against- I'm into it simply for the feeling of apocalypse: Empty sidewalks, people gathered inside of their homes having shut their doors to the world, odd stretches of available parking in parts of the city in which that is unheard of.
(pause)
Today, I sip coffee.
With whipping cream in it because I am feeling indulgent.
Five feet away from me, I see the blanket atop a loved one rise and fall with their breath.
Orphan holidays, indeed.
(pause)
I have come to enjoy the solitude and indulgence of these days. Strange how brilliantly things may shine once you invent, and eventually live, a narrative true and earnest enough to counter the mainstream story.
Be loved; be well,
k.
(photo credit: I believe I grabbed it from lecollecteur tumblr)
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