i. afternoon
The hours seep into my life, slowly dripping like thick caramel, smelling of fresh tea in dark amber hues, swirling in graceful wisps, around the glass that shimmers under the heat of the liquid sun. I stare, fingers curled next to the warmth, at the sunlight that trickles away, wanting to cling onto nostalgic feelings, pressing myself closer breathing in summer, feeling it fade from my clothing. Sometimes, the hours pass with lazy naps; escapades into the dream world, and I wake to find the faint glow of dreams lingering across the edges of my vision, blurring the sharp white walls that surround me, lighting up my room. I paint and cover with what I have, pouring vivid affections over pale, off whites, before closing my eyes, revelling, at the explosion of orange-red; closed eyelids yet the images are far brighter like this, in my head, far stronger than the weak flame that dares to dance with hope in my heart. I stand, opening my eyes, grasping the teacup, lifting it to my mouth. The tea has gone cold.