The rain gently roars outside, tumbling softly on my window and rickety roof. I hope it keeps it up, for it offers a dryer-fresh blanket quality on my whole world. I’m enthroned by its steady embrace; the room lulls a cheer for its bed-resting queen.

Coffee serves as my eternal elixir, soothing any notions of movement beyond my fingers sprawled across this keyboard. How that liquid smooths my throat, coating my stomach in toasty bursts.

The frivolity of Gilmore Girls murmurs before me. It’s familiar and kind, like the few good memories I have of home. Good writing shines through it.

I am home, because I am my home.

Each warm, inviting kiss of my love builds that home more secure and stable than ever. His support is unwavering, his love more real than any I’ve ever known, his kindness unconditional, and his care unlimited.

I’m thankful for what I have. Yahweh provides for my needs, and I look forward to my future of wants.

I am more accustomed to peace in this moment; it is ripe, it is pure.

William Masters and Virginia Johnson are pleading for me to finish my second read-through of their research.

Yes, thunder, sing one of Mother Nature’s nonpareil songs from her infinite, Earthly library of soul-beckoning compositions. With each crackled growl in the sky, an artist, a creator, is inspired. A new generation of powerful works are conceived.

Thank you, Trinity; heal me whole.


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