11 Days.

10 Minutes.

No Edits.

Raw Writing.

Close to heart.

Enjoy!

Coffee

There is ritual in the morning.

The alarm pushes me from slumber. The dreams hang heavy on my mind as the water boils. I wipe morning grit from my eyes and try to remember what it felt like to fly.

No, that’s not right. I pour the water and can feel the salt across my skin as I remember what it felt like to sink down. Wet sand between my toes, slick algae skirting my legs as I seek purchase.

Another timer cuts through my wandering thoughts and I plunge the French Press and pour. I breathe in coffee steam, letting it warm my face. I long for the bed, to enter the dream world again, but the ritual pulls me onward.

I sip, cautiously, another breathing technique causes ripples across its surface. I remember looking back up through the water. Salt in my eyes, but also light refracting across the surface. There is sunlight somewhere and while I’m surrounded by darkness I know there is hope.

I take my first sip, and I’m awake.

Сайхан Бичээрэй!

H