She was lying down, under the window, on the big red beanbag where her body disappeared. Like every day, she was taking the time to enjoy the first lights of the morning. The sky was blue, not a cloud at sight. The city was quiet, wrapped in a silence that only the precious songs of the seagulls and barks of the dogs would occasionally pierce. Inside the small Venetian flat she shared with her partner of 5 years, she was savoring this time she was taking for herself.
Behind her, on the other side of the wall, S. was asleep. By now, the light must have been caressing his resting face for some time, in their bedroom without flaps. He would soon wake up, make the bed, and look for her. She loved when they started their day, her on her toes, her heels lifted and face nestled in his neck and him his arms wrapped around her body and squeezing her good morning.
The day was becoming brighter. Aside from the light roar of the fridge, the only sounds V. could hear were her own. She could still taste the lemon and honey, she drank earlier in warm water, as par of her morning rituals. She was lying happy, rejoicing in the moment, writing. Her mind wondered for an instant acknowledging her wellbeing and satisfaction. This morning, she had already done her meditation practice, spent some time feeding her mind and fulfilling her curiosity by studying her online classes, listening to far away teachers in her worn-out white headphones. She was happy.
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