My kimono hangs next to me. The feather from Aztec New Year is quiet. The Bulgakov novel, shut.
My tea is cold. My city buzzes outside.
It smelled like flowering trees last night. I danced sweatily with my kindred spirits in the studio above the street. I felt peace.
No anxiety or sadness. I am such a healthier person alone.
12:46 p.m. - 2012-04-25