whispers

I find myself on my porch soaking in the glories of the day. I am not usually an outdoor person. That is, I am not the type of girl who needs to spend time outside on a regular basis. I have been known to spend entire days in my apartment without ever setting foot outside. However, this porch has become my safe haven of late. Perhaps it is the aged wooden planks beneath my feet, which speak of years gone past and many walks of life trodden. Or maybe it is the canopy of trees that partially obscure the suns glaring rays, allowing just enough light for it to play across the floorboards and stream in through the leaves. The squirrels are an added bonus, scampering through the trees, fighting and bickering all the while. Little snippets of the life outside my own.

Normally I come out here for the silence. Not the deadening silence of my room, that often becomes a tomb reverberating my obsessive thoughts and depressing ruminations. When I escape out here it is usually with a mug of steaming coffee, and some distracting fiction book. Today is different. I came out here with the intentions of eating my tuna sandwich and stale chips and to read Nick Hornby’s How to Be Good. However, after only a few turns of the page I found myself repulsed by the bitter and anguished humor of its pages. Moreover I was sickened by how easily I related. God, when the fuck did I become so terribly cynical? I set the book down. The silence out here is different today. Living and breathing. Alive and whispering...