in my bedroom
i wake up every morning to the sunlight seeping into my yellow walls, or the cloudiness casting its haze and shadow. i turn back my white comforter and stretch a little, sitting upright before actually getting out of the bed. it's a process for me. a process that i didn't realize i created until just a few weeks ago.
we're like birds, you know. born in mommy's nest, then gathering strength and gathering knowledge to survive in the world on our own, and eventually make our own nest. from day one, it's like a timer. counting down the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds until we say our last goodbyes. i don't want that day to come, but i know it must, and soon i'll be the mommy to my own little birds.
my timer is running out. but until it beeps, i'll drink in every detail of what i have now. the purple closet because i wasn't good at color coordination. the headboard and the dresser. the dolls that sit under my windowsill. this is sacred to me, precious. and i'll hold onto every last bit of it, even after i have to let go.
what about your room?