24 minutes

the low hum of dryers. I am here, pajama fabulous, watching the time tick by. I feel the warmth of the day pulling my attention away from the stench of laundry detergent and fabric softener. I sit inside the walls of this establishment hoping I can write something. I wait the 24 minutes it takes to clean the week out of my clothes as a heaviness sits right in the centre of my sternum like a shotput ball balancing there to slow my breath. How can I feel this when there is sun on my back, love in my house, blossoms on the trees, and music being made? Why do I question my existence so constantly when I should just be living it. connect the dots. do something to feel different. maybe I will today. maybe I will tomorrow 

Briget BoyleComment