Buble

What a relaxing evening tonight. I haven't had time to just soak in my introvertedness for a while now. I can't remember the last chance I had to just sit and read a good book, or slowly enjoy my coffee rather than desperately caffeinating myself.

I'm here all nice and warm from a fresh shower, smothered completely from head to toe in my thick, velvet-soft blanket and draped incredibly comfortably across my silk smooth wine-red sheets I unashamedly splurged on. My room is freshly (and a little obsessive compulsively) cleaned, and my laundry completely done. All my errands have been run and I stretch so luxuriously I feel like just melting into the seductive comfort of my blankets. I have a playlist on my laptop with a couple dozen Michael Buble songs drifting through my room that I haven't heard in a long time. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy his music. Buble makes me remember what it was like to enthusiastically fall head over heels in a wondering love. Sometimes I get too covered in the dusty details of everyday rituals and the cost of maintaining them. It's good to remember the important things, the things we took seriously when we were children, that somewhere along the way became faint memories fluttering in the corners of our hearts.