a little dream
Dreams are not ones to recede quietly into the background, they emerge and re-emerge every time the mind indulges in a soliloquy.
It is a tiny, cozy cottage tucked faraway in a obscure London town that i can call home. I would have owned a little shop next-door selling knick-knacks, fresh homemade bread, cookies and vintage books. The red door of the shop with its bronze bell and chimes would have sung a mellow song everytime someone walked in through it.
Children would have run through this door buying candy and big yellow lollipops i had made myself and kept in big, glass jars on a high shelf behind the counter. Women would have walked in smiling at this city girl humming Rachael Yamagata and always welcoming them with a warm cup of tea. Every time they walked in, they will bring in a cold gust of wind to this little shop but be warmed by an old bricks fireplace. I would have listened to their woes and exchanged stories and baked them soft bread everyday.
My brown and white comma of Micah would have woofed with sloth every time i cuddled it in my arms. And after the children had had their day's share of apple-flavored candy and the women had bought the spices lying in sacks at a corner in the shop, i would have pulled down the blinds and made my way to my sweet, scented candle-lit cottage for a night of reading with soft jazz and a Queen Helene's facial mask on.
When the cute local doctor came knocking at the door to ask me out for a cup of coffee, i would have batted my eyelids and said, "Sorry! I brew my own."
It is a tiny, cozy cottage tucked faraway in a obscure London town that i can call home. I would have owned a little shop next-door selling knick-knacks, fresh homemade bread, cookies and vintage books. The red door of the shop with its bronze bell and chimes would have sung a mellow song everytime someone walked in through it.
Children would have run through this door buying candy and big yellow lollipops i had made myself and kept in big, glass jars on a high shelf behind the counter. Women would have walked in smiling at this city girl humming Rachael Yamagata and always welcoming them with a warm cup of tea. Every time they walked in, they will bring in a cold gust of wind to this little shop but be warmed by an old bricks fireplace. I would have listened to their woes and exchanged stories and baked them soft bread everyday.
My brown and white comma of Micah would have woofed with sloth every time i cuddled it in my arms. And after the children had had their day's share of apple-flavored candy and the women had bought the spices lying in sacks at a corner in the shop, i would have pulled down the blinds and made my way to my sweet, scented candle-lit cottage for a night of reading with soft jazz and a Queen Helene's facial mask on.
When the cute local doctor came knocking at the door to ask me out for a cup of coffee, i would have batted my eyelids and said, "Sorry! I brew my own."
