her eylashes squint recieving the bright sunlight from the glass-stained window as her brown orbs with the mixed greens open and shine, she feels some kind of euphoria; a momentary thing she feels in quite a few mornings, but gets washed away oh, so simply by her recieving the pure reality. just the good old routine.
but don't get her wrong, oh,
she's not complaining
it's hard for her to get out of the bed, her illness makes it hard, but what do we get easily in this life, oh, baby, nothing. we got to go and put a little effort, don't we?
as she walks her walk to the bathroom, she's greeted with the mirror on the wall, she smiles
"good morning"
because kid, you gotta love yourself. her love&hate relationship makes it hard. oh it does. but what does she have to lose?
walking, more like dragging her feet, once she feels her long, skinny fingertips pressing against, more like, on the sink, she opens the water running- not too slow, not too harsh- just perfect.
her hands meet the water and she shivers, splashing the blue-ish see through liquid on her skin, across her face.
her last obligated step in her routine- curl your eyelashes..
oh, how such a little thing can make you look alive, bloom, just like a princess.
oh, how much it takes to 'fake' it all behind a, oh so, 'fake' wall.
she's ready to head out, isn't she?
YOU ARE READING
a rosey hue;.
Poetrya book about the beautiful parts of life. the happiness and smiles, peacefulness and the truth, α яοѕєγ нυє, finding it's way into the morning sky, while the warm breeze is hitting your cheek;.
