A couple of moments.

Dress: Loft, Shoes: Aldo, Belt: Loft, Earrings: Chinese Laundry

I live for waking up. The millisecond before opening my eyes where my life is just a spectacle of all I want it to be. Wrapped up in blankets, in a cocoon of daydream. Not at the finish line but right at the beginning.

Sometime during my day I’ll get to dance. Maybe I just cranked up Pandora while I’m walking to work and just heard the beats to ” Che Che Cole” by Hector Lavoe, or maybe I’m all by myself in an empty apartment and ” A thousand years” by Christina Perri is starting to play. At that moment I’ll pretend I ever was a ballet dancer. Sometimes I hope I would’ve been. I live for that moment of pretense. I live for the body made poetic.

After that, who knows? Maybe I’ll get the chance to grin hugely at someone. I don’t mean just smiling, I mean grinning. I mean sharing a moment of profound happiness with another. A thing we shared in common, compliment, a funny remark, a word of encouragement, a sigh, a look, a breath.

I dream about the moment I get to absorb myself in another good book. There’s something so relaxing about loosing myself in a story that is not my own, for better or for worse. Maybe it’s because I get to feel like I can be in two places at once for sometime. Maybe it’s just because I’m a dreamer.

I live for familiarity. For the moments that, unlike so many others, don’t surprise me. I live for coming home to the smell of a fresh meal, for my mother’s warm embrace and the smell of her pillowcase. My father’s funny remarks, me and my brother’s exchange of the same words, and old, old friendships. Memories. I live for creating those.

I realize there’s nothing so wrong with the world with a caress. A couple of fingers winding their way around my hair tells me there’s nothing that can’t be fixed, there are no problems that can’t be erased. Because sometimes they are thing that matter more and we overlook them. A caress matters more than a hurt, all the time.

I live for tucking myself on bed again and closing my eyes. But mostly, for the moment I get to whisper “thank you” to the man upstairs. For my good deeds, and if I don’t deserve that, for my desire to be good. For waking up, for the ability to move, for smiles and happy moments, for family, for details and caresses, and for letting me do it all over again.