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Mimicry.

It was nice.

I felt detached from life. Somewhat.

Then something hit me with a jolt. Albeit a very small one. It was still enough to make my skin prickle alarmingly. My brain sluggishly whirred into motion.

Gosh, what day is today? It’s not the weekend but it sure feels like one.

Numbers, date? I cannot remember. I do not want to open my eyes just yet.

You know how it is. You squeeze your eyes tighter than before anyway, although you sense the morning sun already peeking in through the windows. You pretend not to hear the humdrum workings of the kitchen, the tinkle tinkle of a spoon against a cup, although the smell of thick black coffee permeates the air. You try to let the melodious throaty gurgles of a bird lull you back to sleep, although, although…

Let me dream a little bit more. Please.

I took to arranging the scenes, throwing colour to the landscapes, painting intricate details all around me, directing the works, the events, the characters, the stories.

But nothing happened.

This is not working.

I pushed away the covers reluctantly, opened my eyes to narrow slits, uttered a curse, decided to wake up for real, sat up on my bed and wondered forlornly what to do for the rest of the day.

Details of this entry.Thursday, February 22, 2007, filed under Musings.
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