I’m sitting outside with a fresh cup of coffee. The cool breeze filters in and refreshes my mind. My mind has been under siege lately.
Cluttered with the what’s already happened, what’s happening now and what will happen tomorrow.
It’s a mixed bag, the evidence of what it means to be truly alive.
The warmth of my drink is a comforting sensation, but in the midst of my afternoon delight is the nagging sensation that always hits at the wrong time.
I have to pee.
My instinct is to get up and report for work earlier than I want to. I have to use the loo and the only way to do that is to pack up my mood — and switch to the one that barely carries me through the day into the night.
I don’t want to pee.
I would rather sit here and watch people dash by in groups, as they shuttle along with their overpriced salads, and the whiff of office talk trailing their urgent footsteps.
I like kicking back and observing the blue sky that is so purposeful in its hue — as I challenge the scant clouds to hold my attention long enough for a mid-day lullaby.
I demand to close my eyes for a second or two as I delay the noise around me — and pretend that I’m sunbathing in Venice Beach, while I wait for my newfound lover to surprise me with a kiss. It’s never unexpected because I ache for it, but the time spent locking his to mine is a thrill.
I enjoy coming back to what’s real with the whimsical scent of the possibilities as the smile from the scene remains fixed and enchants another.
But, then the road ahead is pulling me closer. The cars swift by and yet I’m jetting down the highway with astute knowledge of where I’m not going.
The traffic dips into lanes with no regard for my being. The collision enraptures and I abruptly force my arm away from the apologetic angel with no halo.
I notice the seats around me are filled but the chatter is low. The wind has died down into a mellow throb of the heating moon — spraying rays all around.
The time has changed and it’s time to go.