Breakfast
This moment is constantly being replayed in my head, it's an image I create or recreate about one of my favorite moments I've ever lived. But I'm not sure it has actually happened.
It begins with a yellowish-orange morning, family gathered at the kitchen table, ready for breakfast. The sunlight to shine on all of us through the window's curtains, made of what was supposed to be white lace, but if you took a close look, it would prove to be some other colors. Funny thing how time can change colors.
The homemade bread would still be very warm and soft and fluffy, had it been recently taken out of the oven. I would definitely sit down the closest I could to the bread, its smell the best thing my nose could find at the moment. Can you smell the butter melting delicately on top of a slice cut so perfectly? There were trees shining and dancing happily to the sound of the wind's music. The sun their best friend. The bread mine.
I would close my eyes to appreciate every second of the brightest breakfast just to hear the sound of two of my favorite potables in the world: coffee and milk. I would pay attention to the sound the coffee made when it touched the milk's surface abruptly and how minuscule bubbles would appear when they mixed. And a thin white whirling smoke, caffeine and lactobacillus flavored vapor. It would be so pleasurable feeling this arcanum kissing my lips and the tip of my tongue gently, yet burning it all. Its warmth would present to be a slight juxtaposition to the weather.
I would hear the sound of mixing drinks over and over again. It would be my mother, then my brother, then my other brother. Lastly, it would be my grandmother, probably. I could smell happiness. I could hear it too. I would only imagine how perfect...it would be if this dream could come true.Sip, sip, sip.
The homemade bread would still be very warm and soft and fluffy, had it been recently taken out of the oven. I would definitely sit down the closest I could to the bread, its smell the best thing my nose could find at the moment. Can you smell the butter melting delicately on top of a slice cut so perfectly? There were trees shining and dancing happily to the sound of the wind's music. The sun their best friend. The bread mine.
I would close my eyes to appreciate every second of the brightest breakfast just to hear the sound of two of my favorite potables in the world: coffee and milk. I would pay attention to the sound the coffee made when it touched the milk's surface abruptly and how minuscule bubbles would appear when they mixed. And a thin white whirling smoke, caffeine and lactobacillus flavored vapor. It would be so pleasurable feeling this arcanum kissing my lips and the tip of my tongue gently, yet burning it all. Its warmth would present to be a slight juxtaposition to the weather.
I would hear the sound of mixing drinks over and over again. It would be my mother, then my brother, then my other brother. Lastly, it would be my grandmother, probably. I could smell happiness. I could hear it too. I would only imagine how perfect...it would be if this dream could come true.Sip, sip, sip.
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