… Because the previous prompts did not make me sound self-centered enough…
As I add the last period of my story, I close the notebook and lay it down on the table to my left. The pen is placed snuggly, right next to the notebook. If I put it on top of it, or just randomly toss it onto the table, it will roll and I do not feel like bending over and picking it up from the ground.
The bones crack, singing my praises when I stretch my curled-up legs. My muscles quickly join in with sighs of relief. Only now do I realize that my left foot had fallen asleep. I bend it with the help of my hands for a few seconds and then send a brain signal to my toes for them to wiggle. At first, the movements are slow – just like when you want to check how cold it is outside but you really do not. But, after a brief moment, the numbness begins to subside, and soon enough it is fully gone and my toes wiggle freely. “We did it!” they seem to scream proudly, and I smile.
Without looking, I grab my favorite mug and put it to my lips. The honey lemon tea is still as good as it was when I first brewed it some two hours ago. Maybe even better. After taking a few sips, I hold onto the ceramic piece with both of my hands. It makes you feel cozier and more connected that way. Or at least it does for me.
I exhale for seven seconds and take an equally long inhale. My eyes finally focus and I am able to see. Looking and seeing are two completely different things. Seeing is where it is at.
The view in front of me is breathtaking. Hues of pink, blue, and purple adorn the horizon as the sun makes its way to bed for the day. The ocean, blending in with the colors of the sky, is mostly calm as if ready to tuck the Sun in for the night and lull it to sleep. I sway from side to side.
Do you hear that?
Neither do I.
Everything is still.
I take another deep inhale and look onto the table. My latest bestseller sits there like it is no big deal. I thought I would get used to being a well-renowned author after my third book but here I was – seven novels in – and it still felt surreal. I take a couple more sips of the liquid gold before I put the mug back onto the table and pick up the book.
The front cover, designed by Andrea, is beautiful but I do not linger on it for more than three seconds before I turn the book to look at its back. Familiar eyes stare back at me. The portrait photo was taken when my first manuscript got accepted to be published. It has been a while…
Clutching the book, I shift my eyes to the beautifully painted horizon.
The baby cries out from the other room and I sigh deeply. “I JUST sat down to write,” I whisper as I get up from my chair.
If only I had some peace and quiet…
“Why are you not asleep?” I ask my son even though the only answer he is able to give me is in a form of a cry. I swaddle him and take him with me to the study. Before I know it, the rhythmic movement of my left foot makes the crib rock from side to side and I feel like I am a famous pianist. Only my fingers are not striking white and black keys. Instead, they are wrapped around a fountain pen that glides across the page like an Olympic ice skater. The baby stirs gently without a peep.
“Honey, I’m home,” my husband calls out as he walks into the house and my mouth opens, ready to scream at him to be quiet because the baby is sleeping. A soft moan from the crib reminds me that I need to keep my mouth shut. I still the crib and walk out of the study on my tippy toes. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I break into a sprint. The last thing I need is for my husband to make more noise before I get to him. The baby is such a light sleeper…
If only I had some peace and quiet…
“There you are!” he says with a bright smile.
Before I can make up my mind on how I want to let him have it, he pulls out something from his briefcase and hands it to me. The fact that it is wrapped makes me uneasy. “Did I forget an anniversary?” I wonder for a split second before assuring myself that I never do.
“I just saw it and thought of you,” he says as I finish unwrapping a leatherbound journal. It is the same one that we had seen a couple of years back but could never find it again. The green dyed cover is soft to the touch and the smell of leather fills the room. I leaf through the empty pages and think of all the limitless possibilities.
“Thank you,” I say softly and kiss my husband on the cheek.
The green-blue eyes on the back cover are just like mine, only mine no longer have the spark in them that those from all these years before do.
Before you ask me what happened between then and now, I am here to tell you that it is up to YOU to fill in the blanks.
What do I like about my writing? It is that it allows me to escape the real world but it also inspires me to live in it! How about you? What do you like about your writing?
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