I wanted to right about a great day but I ended up hitting the hay earlier, creating another unfinished post that would probably never be published.
I woke up, yet again too sick to leave the bed. I rested my head against the soft pillow, listening to the almost deafening silence. There was nothing to listen to except for the quiet humming of the old electric fan and the frequent chirping of the birds. What a peaceful place, I tell myself.
I was reminded of those innocent days when I was sent home from school in third grade because of conjunctivitis. I remembered how quiet it was because everyone’s still at school or work. I remembered eating newly cooked food after how many days. I remembered resting — the good kind of rest wherein you weren’t exhausted. The type of rest wherein you just relax and rest because you feel like doing so.
I miss this kind of quiet — finding it peaceful not because you came from turmoil but just because it is.