Winter's first tune.
I heard it this morning.
Felt like staying in bed forever.
To have that moment suspended in time.
To live nature's winter tale between the thick covers of my bed. Drowning in the dim, soft light of a day that is getting ready to start.
The Art of Pleasure.
Lately , I have been perfecting it.
I find pleasure everywhere.
In the natural unfolding of the mundane.
I live slowly.
Savoring my espresso. Taking mini sips to make the moment longer. A cup lasts an hour. Minutes of bliss. Long moments.
And the ordinary turns into a love story.
I try to taste as many different flavors of coffee as I possibly can. And when a cup finishes, I don't brush my teeth immediately. I try to keep the taste in my mouth for the longest of times. I smile between each small sip.
I live as many lives as I can conjure in my mind whilst drinking my coffee.
Inside my wounded imagination, many lives are lived.
I perform the same rituals when am having my daily doze of white wine.
I sink in my rituals and I create love poems out of them.
I listen to music and I bravely embrace the unknown.
At home I use soft lights to create atmospheric rooms.
In the newspaper where I work since 22 years, I have decorated my office in a way that allows me to drift inside a world I have created to fit my need to escape the ordinary.
I live slowly, giving each moment the right to be a chapter in the story of my life.
I live as slowly as my imagination allows me.
I am afraid of missing out.
Each day is an exercise in mastery.
I want to master the art of pleasure.
The art of life.
My cigarette break is a tale upon itself.
The luxury of time.
The blessings of fleeting moments.
Those, I do not take for granted.
I clean the house as if I am being secretly filmed. People are watching, therefore, I turn my daily chores into an erotic dance. A ritual. Necessary for the unfolding of a life I keep recreating in the hope of mastering its rules.
I stay for what seems like hours in the shower. I let the water love my skin and caress it as lavishly as it wishes. And later, I slather velvety cream.
And that's fit for a body embracing pleasure.
In the background – precisely somewhere in my mind – different tunes play and change according to my moments.
They dance to the rhythm of my mood.
When I am pencil – doodling on paper, or mixing colors on canvas, I fall in love with the shapes.
During those moments, I create a chapter made of laughing clouds and I add it to my life.
Each day rests on simple pleasures.
When I exercise, I allow my body to master each movement as though it were an erotic prelude of love.
When I cook, I allow the ingredients to sway between my hands as though they were purring kittens.
And when I eat, I take all my time before I swallow each bite.
I mix flavors.
I mix pleasures.
I take pictures of many a moment throughout the day to remind me that I am but a passing visitor of runaway days.
I walk as though I am seducing a lover.
And my lover happens to be life.
I talk to my plants as I water them.
I talk to them about happiness.
A colorful throw decorates my bed.
I have knit it in order to live, yet another experience.
I count my blessings every single day.
And at times, I have private talks with God and a few saints I have turned into confidants.
I sing when I am sad in order to remind myself of hidden beauty lurking everywhere.
I cast a side way glance to my sorrows, and I smile over my shoulders to my ex – lovers who have visited my life story but never fully belonged.
And I smile even wider when I am reminded of who i used to be.
And I laugh confidently at all I have been through.
All my past stories have turned – through my consent – into pieces, small pieces added to my big puzzle that is my life.
I master each day as if I was challenging life to a friendly duel...and I know beforehand that I shall be the winner. For I am writing my life story with a glass of wine in one hand, an espresso in another, a cigarette in my mouth, and a pair of fine high heels on the basis of my legs.
I cultivate my curves and I do not starve myself to please society.
I wear tight fitting clothes that scream my appreciation for the woman in me.
I take my time to answer unwanted questions.
And at times, I don't answer at all.
Between responsibilities, I breathe slowly and I dream whilst looking at the corner of the room.
I read children's literature, and at times, I read three books at the same time.
And I cast side way glances at who I used to be and Laugh over my shoulder at my past attempts at love.
I pass my hands over the soft fabric of my tight dress, I click my high heels...and woohaaa ! Do I feel like a woman!