And so I stayed: happy, lazy, adrift in the shafts of light that poured in the room and the television's voice that kept me aloft in it. The scent of my freshly washed hair filled me, and the towel I had wrapped around my head sprawled out beneath me, cushioning me, breathing the perfume of my shampoo, cradling my head in white terry. My fingers were lax, tossed over the side of the couch. It was that time of day, that fragile moment in which the light seems harshest though it is about to begin fading, as if the sun is in its last moments of contemplation, and will shortly decide to set. The windows allowed the light to push through, to fall into the room and repaint it with streaks of the starkest white and to fill it with this thick complacency. I don't know why, but my idleness was justified. I couldn't be happier, smelling the flowers of the shower, blankly staring at the bespeckled ceiling, feeling the warmth of the day.

And so I stayed: happy, lazy, adrift.


(Listening to: "How Do" by Sneaker Pimps)