I wish that I could have a truly perfect day. It wouldn't even consist of me doing anything extravagant, like fine dinners or world travel. I just want to be able to sit and write. Watch the sun rise. Watch it set. Laugh, read, cry if I have to, without the interruptions.
These ceaseless interruptions.
I woke this morning knowing that this would not be a perfect day.
The yells that came a couple of hours afterwards only helped to point this out.
I'm not tired. I slept well. A dreamless quiet sleep. I wish it could be like that when I'm awake. Quiet.
I wonder if the sky is quiet. I look towards it in those stressful moments and I never hear a reply to the questions I ask myself.
It's Saturday. I've rested. I'm up. I'm alive. I suppose this should be perfection. The fact that I even exist.
And yet.
All this noise only leaves me wishing.
I wish for a truly perfect day.
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