There once was a time where I enjoyed my life.
Good times, early times. Times which have been wrapped in the warmth of the galaxy's blanket and left to be cherished eternally. Those times are the best times. And lately? Nothing like that.
I yearn to be wrapped up in her blanket once more; cherishing those slippery moments of time just for it to be over to realise: I should of appreciated it more than last time.
The blanket of innocence is a soft one. One which seems like a glass artwork in a protective box for everyone to admire. Once that glass is shattered? Broken.
Broken.
***
I wake up to the sound of a crow cooing outside my window. Unusual, but I didn't think much of it. I turned in my bed to face away from the window as my eyes adjusted through the stickiness of sleep as I began to blink again. The calendar says that it's June 11th, but I know full well we've almost finished August. A shame I've stopped using that calendar. Well, I would if there wasn't a mine field of plates and clothes in the way of me and my calendar. My sweet calendar, which I never used.
My room is interesting. Well, it's not, but I find joy in the oddness of it all. The walls are painted a light blue with one wall behind my bed being a white brick wall. I like it. It's 'chic'. My bed with the elegant black railings was placed in the centre of my room, leaning against the fresh chic wall. It matched the aesthetic of the room oddly. It feels like it's suited to be here.
My bed railing is nice.
My rooms a mess, I think, I should probably clean it up. We know both well that I wont though, do we Reader?
Yes, I know your there. In my mind. Don't be silly I'm used to this loop.
I hop out of my bed and step in a plate covered in mayonnaise from last night. I look at where my foot has landed and I notice a take away box and an empty bottle of whatever. I sigh to myself. Why do I always end up like this?
I scramble myself out of my room into the soulless corridor of my domain. The walls are crispy white here, but not in a 'chic' sense. More like rushed or unfinished. Shit. My work hasn't been done.
I launch myself back in my room, swiftly hopping from space to space to avoid setting off the loudness of my laziness as I made my way to my desk next to the window. I sit down on the chair and swirl myself around, facing the agony of reality as I look disgustingly at my clock. 5:47 am. Weird. Strange time for me to be awake. I normally wake up earlier. I look outside of my rustic building and gaze at the fog of the morning laying sleepily over my town. I sometimes wish I was the fog. The smokiness and the dampness really underlines the problems of my life for the world to see, but no one notices. Ah, loneliness.
I look down at my closed laptop and take all of the strength from my arms to open the gates of responsibility. I type in my password as usual and log in, observing the shit of a home screen that I have. Files everywhere. Downloads scattered across the sea of painful memory. I need to change that background.
It is a picture of my old dog. The dog from back home. I miss him. Maple was her name. A beautiful golden Labrador with manners better than any man that I've slept with.
I hear a groan from behind me.
I throw my head and stare at my bed. Shit. Is that Nathaniel?. He groans and turns over to the other side, comfortably hugging my pillow as he was still asleep. Definitely Nathaniel.
Lucky him. For context I fall asleep at the most ungodly hours of the morning. Some people call me insane for not sleeping, others call me productive. I signal a thumbs up to myself as I unintentionally stare at Nathan. Good job Cassy.
