I wake up some mornings and know I am in love. Bathing in romance, the sweetness of giggling to myself, I love the sun rising. No, my love is not person-inspired, I simply am enamored by each breath I take. Everything is slow. Everything is sweet. Dance to a worn out record. Dive into saltwater. Guitars playing. The aftertaste of chocolate. The aftertaste of a kiss. Poetry. Clouds. And the sensation of a cold shower. Senses are alive and I smile when I am alone. I feel pink. I feel sparkly. I feel alive; like seeing the rainbow for the first time. Laughing is innocent and time does not cause me to worry. I am in love. In love with my slight cold; with dead batteries and calloused fingers; with heartache and hope, potatoes and blue scarfs and just-dried socks.
When did I first forget to smile upon waking up? How did this gift ever become old and my heart grow to be ungrateful?
I want always to be in love. When my eyes truly open, so precious is everything. So precious are these moments

(I feel as if I live inside a Blues Traveller son)