la part més difícil

The hardest bit. And while not playing with the meaning, words play with me all the other way around.

The hardest bit of every morning is to know it is one more day and one day less.
That the same tiredness welcomes you in the morning, similar to the one you went to bed with and the one you will go to bed with again. It is a cyclical tiredness.

The sun is not quite up. No landscape to look at in the morning hours, no colors to see shaping up.
The morning silence will be broken by the succulent semi thick blubbling of the coffee coming up the espresso machine. Its delicious smell guiding my way out of the shower.

Sometimes I go to bed and I am already happy to wake up anticipating the coffee ritual, a ritual that has settled in the same way ever since I first arrived here. Not a bit has changed in that matter of all the things that change, that come and go. And while I cannot keep traditions, I am relieved to discover one that prevails.

I refreshed my throat with some gulps of beer last night. And all of the sudden I remembered I forgot something and I felt the need to go back home. Consciousness and mind games, my mind took over me all of the sudden. Forgetting made me feel down.

I realized I had forgotten something crucial and ran back to sink in my sheets. I couldn't forgive myself... I forgot to!