The Aftermath

She woke up early that morning, looked at the mirror and realized she went to bed with the clothes on,... again. 'Until what point of slovenliness I reached for draining my heart, trying to understand his hurtful peaks and downs, swaying my reason in and out of sense...' she asked to herself. She turned around and looked through the window where a merciful sun bathed the tidy garden. She walked to the kitchen and started to clean and refill the small Italian coffee kettle with strong Arabica. She opened the fridge and stood for a while wondering what the options were in her nearly empty shelf... salad, ham and natural yogurt. 'It sounds like a breakfast'.

She sat by the kitchen table in silence, drinking the first sip of the strong coffee and her eyes and mind remained spaced out for an indefinite time until she felt the need to wake up from the stillness in her hands and feet. She washed the cup and other dishes left behind from who knows when and cleaned the hobs. Out of a sudden, while looking the tidy, empty garden, she told to herself, 'I must move on and get back to life', and for the first time in many months, the idea of having a routine leading her life, sounded as the best of the options,... after all that storm of feelings which have been dragging her out of the road, just when everything seemed to make sense...

'Maybe I should write it down, as I'm not able to understand it now, one day I will, and everything would make sense again...'

She went to the living room, switched on the laptop, and started a blog.