Tuesday, March 12, 2013

A Cup of Tea

Life is fast. Sometimes I crawl into bed at night and think to myself, "have I done anything of importance today? Today looked remarkably like yesterday, and yesterday looked remarkably like the day before that--what am I getting done with my life? Will I ever get anything done with my life? Is this is what my future holds for me, nothing but the monotonous tasks of days that repeat themselves like a rat-wheel?"
Then, in the morning, I sit down. I pour water into a mug and drop a teabag into it. I watch, fascinated, as swirls of color slowly eminate from the bag and envolop the bottom of it in a rich earthy-brown haze. Whisps of surreal steam flutter on the surface. I crawl onto a comfortable chair with my school book and listen as birds chirp outside the window in the drooping trees. They don't seem to mind that their existance is completely hopeless, that probably by tomorrow my cat will kill one of them. I curl my fingers around my cup and close my eyes.
Why are the little things in life the most beautiful?

1 comment:

  1. I feel like this 9 days out of 10. Good thoughts and I have to say, very comforting description ;)