A Foggy Day
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A foggy, dull, overcast Thursday morning. The kind that makes you want to stay under the covers a little longer, hiding from the grey world outside. But my room is now spotless, the bed neatly made, and the old socks that had been scattered on the floor are gone. Even the toothpaste cap is firmly in place, something I’m usually hopeless at remembering. The two angels have come and gone, leaving behind a sense of calm and order. The air still carries the faint scent of cleaning products, and for a moment, everything feels just right, even on such a dreary day.
I'm reading through the comments, a steady stream from all parts of the world. It's incredible to think how far-reaching these connections are, each one a small piece of someone else's life. The letters and postcards have been piling up, too—reminders of stories shared, advice given, and simple greetings from places I've never been.
Today, I've decided to take it slow, just sit here and work my way through it all. There's something comforting about this, the quiet company of words sent from across the globe. I'll savour each one, responding in turn, letting the world come to me, one message at a time.