United States

16 | INFJ | ♀️| massachusetts

[ summer + fall 2019 ] peer ambassador

just a melancholy, existential girl with a penchant for poetry, fairy tales, and magical realism.

Message to Readers

it's not Sunday yet but every day has the same vibe at this point

sunday mornings

April 25, 2020


my father's voice is my alarm / as he stomps down the stairs before the pink-tongued whisper of dawn, / cracking eggs into a stainless steel bowl / and brushing butter across thick slabs of brioche. 
i smell the sugared incense / before the crackle of the stove / and a wafting warmth fills the sleepy halls -- / cinnamon tastes oddly like love.


See History
  • April 25, 2020 - 2:24pm (Now Viewing)

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  • sunny.v

    this piece literally tricked me into thinking it was sunday. darn you and your imagery sorcery!! lovely breakfast piece :D!!

    6 months ago
  • mia_:)

    Literally want to eat it! :D

    6 months ago
  • mia_:)

    I love the nostalgia and the warmth and the homely feel to this! Well done!

    6 months ago
  • agustdv

    its such a warm breakfast of a poem, i love it!!

    7 months ago
  • purplepanache

    aww, so much loveliness packed into this

    7 months ago
  • suhanee

    I love this poem! It made me really happy when I read it!

    7 months ago