Like in a sci-fi story, there is a glass dome in the atmosphere that we can't see but cocoons us, isolating this island from the rest of the world.
So still weird, still out of character.
Still chasing early morning dreams. The ones you allow yourself to linger on, instead of getting up. On a Saturday. The curtains move. A few more minutes before stepping into the day. Eyes still closed. Resisting life pulling in. Holding on to a backdrop. Somewhere a step before or after imagination. Far away from words. Just flashes. Breaking through the fabric of reality.
Then, the smell of coffee.
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