The fragrance and the vapors of the tea are long gone.
The cup is marked with red lips like a birthmark.
The books are scattered on a small coffee table
Together with some white and scribbled folded paper.
The wet and cold air flows through the wide opened door
To soothe the room that was scorching two days ago.
The wet soil fragrance puts the lazy dog to sleep
And it drifts off my fidgety soul.
The birds are singing outside, far away from my door,
A lullaby to the sky
And to the curious cat that lays listening to their song.
My eyes are closed. I see a pink light.
And I imagine that the birds are sending a message through their lullaby.
That life is not only motion but also enjoyment of a silent time.
It's peaceful and addictive.
The air likes to play between my fingers.
The time flows slowly in this tiny room
Where a girl, a dog, a cup, some books and folded papers are resting on a gloomy afternoon.
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