I keep seeing this image, right.
Sitting in the windowsill of an industrial-style loft. My very own concrete jungle.
I'm holding this wonky, yellow, hand-made mug, courtesy of a friend's first pottery class. It's ugly and it's my favorite.
I've filled it to the brim with peppermint tea, as usual.
No sudden movements, or it's spillage village, as usual.
I can never tell if the Sun is rising or setting. It never matters. The sky is sherbet-flavored either way.
I can hear Miles Davis playing in the background. Just loud enough to guide my breathing.
I sit there and I think.
About how I keep seeing this image.
Sitting in the windowsill of my Mother's one bedroom apartment.