It is Sunday.
I made waffles at 11am.
The cookbook I used was old and spotted with grease,
but it fell open to just the right page.
I have no plans for the rest of the day.
I'll probably not do much of anything.
I might read, I might scroll through my phone,
But I also might paint a picture, or go for a walk.
I might get hungry at around 4
And go downstairs for a snack.
I'll take a long bath at around 6.
Maybe I'll watch TV after that.
Who knows?
Actually, the cookbook knows.
After all,
It fell open at just the right page.
YOU ARE READING
Counting Down the Days
PoetryIt is the summer before I leave for college, and I am staring into the empty abyss before me, wondering what to do with my life. In this collection, I am challenging myself to write something every day (now adjusted to every 2-3 days). I may write p...
