Writing Journal 14/01/18

Her eyes were glued to the window. They were only half open and heavy, but her eyelids still made each blink seem effortless. She’d woken up late after the weirdest dream. She didn’t have anywhere she had to be but the sun had already risen and the street was filling with people and cars, justifying the label of late. The day had started without her.

The window was more of a door, larger than a normal sized window, but not quite as big as her actual door. Her blinds were up but her door remained closed, not ready yet to try and catch up with the world. It had rained overnight and the clouds were lingering longer than they were welcome, patterning the otherwise blue sky. Some were dark, other were high enough to catch the sunlight, glowing a pinkish yellow. The low clouds, especially the ones further out along the horizon, were gliding quickly.

Her eyes followed each fluff of cloud, wondering where they would end up. A swaying palm tree waved her eyes away from the clouds and down over the city street. The aftermath of her dream seemed to fit the dreary light, a dull anxiety in the frenetic movement of branches and birds. She couldn’t remember what it had been about but it had left something behind. Her eyes glazed over and back up to the clouds, watching unblinking as she tried to remember. Or tried to forget. Either way she was already late.

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