I like cancelled plans and missed trips.
I like the idea that not getting what you want is another stroke of luck.
I like finding something nice while looking for something else.
I like the flipping of the page to start a new chapter.
I like being awestruck in the moment.
I like the paling of the sky promising a new beginning.
I like watching the rain skittering down the window.
And feel the chrysalism I gain out of it.
I like walking on damped sideroads.
I like the astrophe I feel as I walk along.
And the petrichor I smell arousing from the wet grass.
I like bookshops’ vellichor.
And quiet coffee shops’ anemoic atmosphere.
I like this hypothetical conversation that I keep rolling in my mind.
I like being lost in ambedoic trancé as images from a distant past slowly yet, undeniably surface back in my mind.
I like having flight of thoughts.
I like the unsettling awareness of my own heartbeat.
I like to gambol on the staircase.
And to lilt in the kitchen.
I like my unkempt hair with over-worn pajamas.
I like empty boxes and scattered pens.
I like words and writing them.
I like silence.
I like space.
I like simplicity.
I don’t know why but I like not knowing why.