My Comfort,, My Bed

Comfort:

A holiday from all effort. 

The bed, my solace:

A place to just laze. 

Reading, writing, doing nothing:

Thinking, dreaming, on whimsy ideas floating.

Deep breathing, out of the window gazing, 

Finding even the BMC election rhetoric amusing.

Hours and hours of not talking, 

Not engaging, just being, just existing. 

There is so much to do,  so true, 

But even that guilt vanishes as if by some charm of voodoo. 

Acquainting with self all over again, 

Dreams,  desires,  goals, reinventing the whole damn train.

- Written on 13 February 2017.

- Self-explanatory. I have realised holidays do this to me. :)