I have made it to daylight.
My husband has gone out to meet a friend, and there's silence in the house, like peace. I love him, but he does watch videos on his desktop in rather loud sounds, deafening at times.
It's the way I am whisked into a different parallel when I have a good book, a cuppa coffee on hand, and the natural rays of daylight shining into our tiny abode. It is the white noise of traffic just beneath the balcony, the cooing of birds, the rustling of people going about their days. It is the quiet in my soul.
Days like these always brings me back to my younger self all wrapped up in Matilda, highlighting words that I do not understand –– I had many –– but I think I became a bookworm even earlier on in my years. I always loved reading books. Growing up, we never had much money, and I remember how I would ask my mom to buy me more books to read than assessments. Maybe that's why I was never much good at math. I love words, they speak to my soul like nobody else's. The world in itself is chaotic and loud.
I like it when people write in a way that addresses souls. Most people write with big words that nobody could understand, those never left any impression on me.
