Poached and wilted

I sat.

As I sat, I lay back. Resting my head on the edge of the couch and closing my eyes.

Darkness descended with the slow sweep of my lashes.

I inhaled.
So deeply.

As if to fill my soul with… Light. Air. Dreams. Quiet. Peace.

Instead, my mind filled with mundane images: Poached eggs I meant to make, wilted rosemary waiting to be potted, chipped nail polish, wrinkled shirts crumpled in the dryer.

Mountains of undone things.

I exhale. Clear my mind. Lift, focus and stand up.

My fingers drag wearily over my eyes, making them sting.
{I am so fucking tired}
My internal eye focuses on: fresh green juice, jasmine blooming in my backyard, drinking red wine from mason jars, love, love, life, dear hearts…

Dear hearts.

My mind is full of lightandairanddreamsandquietandpeace after all

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