It’s one of those sweet mornings. There is silence. There is peace. Cold outside, warm inside. We’re sitting on the white chairs... see your pretty face in the sunshine, drinking tea made of flowers for the butterflies in our tummies. Good morning, baby! Because it is those times, the good times that we could hold on to later on, in case we will need it. I close my eyes or look away every time you leave, and when I open them again and you’re gone, time starts to pass again, and always late for something, I hurry through it, over and under, hoping I’m going to make it through another day...
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