Most Precious Object of Mine

It’s what puts my heart to rest, beat by beat until it stops and remains for hours intact. It’s what gives me energy, slowly, breathe in and breathe out. It’s what keeps my spine aligned when I am positioning myself as if I were in my mother’s round belly. Also, it is the object which receives most of my farts. As I lay down on it, my head is filled with thoughts about the day which just passed. Staircase-witticism of all those 5-five star replies is on my mind and all the unsaid “Hi(s)” to people I don’t care about. Attempting to be normal is hard to grasp. None of this matters, because I sink deeper in the mattress, and my eyes are wide shut down. Less fucks given is better anyhow.

It’s the place where most of us are born, most probably by the influence of alcohol. Don’t judge, we’re all creatures not knowing how to properly act. Drugs and moon-shine push us to do what we wouldn’t do otherwise. Once it is that to lean for a French-kiss, other times is that punch to the face of that person you happen to dispraise so much. Nonetheless, at the end of the night, we all arrive at the same place, hopefully, in an embrace of a woman or a man, better yet if there are three of you there.

It’s morning, the sun is up and the light comes through the window. Banal as fuck, as the day which is coming up. I look back and wish I could return to the most precious object of mine.