winter

quotidian normalcy, like eating two segments of your friend's orange after your vocab test like looking out the window of a Starbucks placed almost anachronistically in the backyard of the forest like sipping a too-sweet coffee and watching the rain fall like the barista telling you to have a nice day because they're paid to, not because they care like pulling your coat closer around your body and huddling into yourself to avoid the worst of the wind like turning up the car radio so you don't have to listen to the ghosts in your head like everyday things and sunrises that turn today into tomorrow