poet22

Today was a morning of nostalgia. It was odd...I was concious of my sleeping. I was concious of a certain familiarity.

In my sleep I searched to place this feeling...it was surreal. I suddenly started remembering weekends home in jersey. I would without a doubt be sleeping late with the sun streaming into the windows through feeble blinds. I was probably out clubbing in nyc or with my best friends doing who knows. I'd have no reason to get up at all. So I'd sleep later. I'd smell my parents making pancakes or waffles and a pan of bacon. I'd even hear it sizzling in the kitchen. I'd also hear the radio on one of the local classical stations. Sometimes it would be classic rock. My parents delibarately opened my door hoping all this noise would slowly arouse me from a coma. But I lift only to a light sleep. One of safety, familiarity, release. Eventually I might move. On the front of our house we had these 9 large windows from floor to ceiling of the living room. I would eventually find my way down to lay in the sun pouring in. The warmth would turn to heat as I read the Sunday paper or sometimes the comics. Soon again I may be snoozing, this time in complete disregard to the sun, almost as if I were spiting it. For me, there is nothing like it.

Today my roommate had classic rock on. The light was pouring it late in the morning. The sound, the feel...something in my head almost invented the smells and sounds of the kitchen. The feel of my feet on the wooden floor in my bedroom. The carpet in the hallway. The old red tile in the kitchen. I almost felt at home...