a bed strewn with just-done laundry.
a half-cleaned bathroom with a jug of hair mask, elastics, bottles, everywhere.
a kitchen with a dishes-stacked sink and a counter overcrowded with steaming jasmine tea, credit line statements, recipe cards, keys…
fresh granola roasting in the oven, a cantaloupe, slab of focaccia, bag of snap pea seeds and a jug of pomegranate juice sitting at its feet.
balsam fir incense wafts out the window.
and i sit. at my desk.
wondering what this is all supposed to feel like, what it should feel like, and if i’m missing the mark by even giving the word ‘should’ a place.