Space

Nestled gently in the diary,
A beacon of calm contemplation,
It waits.
Serenity’s siren.

It’s the reset button,
The tabula rasa,
The blank canvas
On which I paint my life.

It begins with coffee,
Scrambled eggs
And Marmitey toast,
With butter that drips from the crusts.

It ends with a movie,
A glass of red
And the cat,
Asleep in the crook of my arm.

Quiet self-indulgence,
The space in between,
Is just that …
Space.

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