My Special Place

The Washroom

The early morning sunlight rays. 

Thin beams of light slides through the window.

My eyes open.

With a slight blur to my vision.

I get up.

And the day begins.

My body is paralyzed.

As if it can only go in one direction.

I enter a room a small room. 

With white clean contrasting walls.

The sink lies motionless.

Dripping an echo of a tiny splash.

Suddenly a rush of water.

Buries the echo.

Then stops.

It leaves, moisturizing the dome.

Living it smooth and silent.

I raise my face and see a parallel universe.

In front of me, mimicking everything I do.

I turn to my right.

I face a large hollow rectangular bowl.

My foot enters a comfy, clean, cold gulf.

I turn on a waterfall. 

Roaring as if it were Niagara falls.

But the bottom enters a swirling vortex of darkness.

A mist forms .

A ghost made of steam appears.

Then the roaring stops.

Into a motionless quiet drip of echoes.

I then grab a thick coat of soft cozy furs.

 Coated in plain simple patterns. 

Covered in soaked markings.

I equip myself into soft cottons.

I open the door.

The large form of mist bursts out.

And my day continues.