Seventh Day

A cloud of freshly brewed coffee pins itself to the ceiling 
Demanding to be acknowledged
The sizzle of butter in a hot pan waits 
For slices of eggy bread to be laid upon it
Pellets of rain knock on the windows rhythmically
Nature’s soothing metronome 
Hours stretch out
Feeling instead like seconds 
Bodily instincts to rush urge themselves to slow down
How wonderful to be alive
When days like these exist

- Ashleigh Catibog-Abraham

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