On my way to work this morning, I saw a friend on the road, smiling. "Antok pa?" I returned her question with a touch on her shoulder. Her shoulder felt like my pillow. I smiled.
This morning is not like most mornings. It feels like I got drunk last night. The series of days before this morning was unlike my usual days, where everything was spic-and-span. Those were good old days, and I miss them, a lot. But they're gone. Either they were snatched away or buried. And yesterday was the climax of the series.
This morning assured me of a different sensation. It is as if I just got into hell and ended up back in my room, cuddled in my bed.
I love this morning.
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"Reading dreams. That's what started her walking down the road. Every day she'd walk a little further: a mile, and come home. Two miles, and come home. One day she just kept on." -Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's
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