I wake up at 3:30 AM. To think I will leave the house at 8AM and arrive at the office at 10AM. I’ve got plenty of time.
I make myself a cup of steamy hot black coffee, grab a pillow and goes up to our unfinished terrace. There waits our rocking chair.
The throne of my daydreams and thoughts, cradle of both laughter and tears. This is where I think of people I love or hate, where I drown with liquor, where I silently break down, where I pour out blog-worthy thoughts, where I recharge after a long day at the office.
Again it welcomes me into his wooden arms. And the night sky is twinkling with stars you rarely see in the metro. The wind is chilly. I rock the chair for a bit, then put both of my legs on the right armrest. One arm hugging the pillow, one hand clutching the phone and browsing while music comes from its headspeaker.
Then some moments of staring into nothingness, but the insides of my head are churning out various memories and thoughts. Or I sit there, taking in the environment, feeling every heartbeat, every crow of the rooster at a distance, the roar of early morning tricycle, the familiar waft of porridge from someone’s kitchen, the goosebumps from the slight chill of the air.
The half-full cup is already cold when I reach out for it.
And dawn is breaking.