Love, Poetry, & Coffee

~ 25 ~

A weary groan escapes my mouth just as I try to stretch every limb. How is it morning already? A light shines steadily outside, strikes me in the eye once I turn my gaze towards the window. The sun can be an asshole every so often. Through the window is the ever-changing art in the sky, the clouds that brought infinite images of beauty. There is something in that feeling of gratitude, for all those gifts given so freely, all for spending a moment gazing into the blue heaven. So in these days, I just want to rest my head in bed, gazing through the window, watching the clouds dance around. I watch cloud patterns no eye has ever seen before or will again. It's such a casual beauty, transitory and eternal, ever so changing each second passes. They drift lazily in the breeze without any destination or purpose, as if every day is a Sunday morning for the clouds to enjoy. Can a person reincarnate as clouds? Because that sounds so ideal right now instead of waking up this early in the morning. A kind fluffy cloud moves slowly in the morning sky just to cover me from the rays of the sun. Thank God for clouds to exist.

With a weary arms and legs, it's impressive how I could push myself out of bed. The gravitational force from my bed once I've gotten out of it gets stronger and stronger. It whispers for me to get back to bed. Unfortunately for the whispers, I have a mission to finish. There's no stopping me when it comes to my agenda. And that agenda is, find out about mystery woman's actions after seeing the letter I've left for her.

As much as I want to bide my time in the showers, the anxious feeling pounds constantly with no planning to end until I'm in the Café. It's that same anxious feeling that I felt once I've left that damn letter for the mystery woman. I'm just going to hope that it was worth it in the end. Better yet, I hope the mystery woman has some bad memory that she immediately forgets about the letter and I could just continue on to my life-as if I have some thrilling one.

After a quick rinse, I stroll my way back to the bedroom, the cloud that covers my eyes from the sun is still in its place when I gaze out of the window. My bed really looks so inviting, but I have to resist. I just have to get some clean clothes in my wardrobe, no need to stare intently to my comfortable bed that might help me sleep through the day without any problems. Shoving my first dirty clothes for the week into the laundry basket, I pull open my wardrobe as if I'm in a fairy tale, but that thought died once I got a glance at the monochrome clothes. "At least I have clothes," I mutter under my breath.

With a sigh, I skim around my wardrobe to find something I'm in the mood to wear today. I feel a bit experimentive today-is that even a word?-I pick up a black-onyx shade turtleneck sweater and a same shade of black trench coat. For the bottom, I pick up a fossil shade pants and of course underwear-more specifically, boxer brief because I don't like wearing tight ones. After shoving my body in these clothes, it's time to choose what shoes I could pair up with this outfit. While I pull my powdery-white socks in my feet, I just realized how this might be my first time caring about my fashion. Well, I do be feeling experimentive today-even if that might not a real word, I would still use it for my own enjoyment. After the socks, I decided to just select raven-shade boots. I just love boots, for some reason. No, wait, I do know that reason. It's because, if I recall correctly on what Spencer asked me, the mystery woman loves boots. So clearly, this caring about my fashion is just an excuse to at least be fashionable for the woman.

Never have I ever become like this to a person before, and if romance novels taught me anything, it's because we're meant to me. Okay, that sounded like a douchebag thing to say, but blame it on romance novels. Besides, romance novels tells how both men and women act and think when it comes to love. The spectrum between, nerd boy, athlete boy to bad boy, and therapeutically-worried-about-this boy have been portrayed in some romance novels. Same towards the spectrum of shy girl, smart girl to badass girl, also therapeutically-worried-about-this-girl. Each author portrays different kinds of men and women in their romance novels, it's just up to the reader what kind of romance they crave. I mean, who am I to judge, considering I'm God-awful at love.