Thoughts 1.18.17

Cold hands gripping a book, knuckles red and rough. Fingers so numb that when the bus comes it is hard to pull out the card. 

Tucked chin inside warm turtleneck, or a loose scarf. Dreaming of when hands will be warmed with a hot mug of something. 

Inside the bus it is warm and noisy, wishing to put in headphones. Perhaps during the drive out the window you stare, or perhaps you are able to actually read.

Sometimes someone asks if they can sit next to you and you scoot over. Most times they sit too close. Feeling the scratchy arm of their coat smashing you into the back of the chair. You scoot as close to the window as you can but are only relieved when your cold fingers reach out and pull the cord. 

Stop requested. This girl would like to get off of this bus, warm as it may be, it is nicer where it is quiet. 

Walking home quickly just to keep blood flowing in hopes it will keep you warmer. You still grip that book tightly, afraid it will be left behind. 

Finally, when your feet walk through the door of your home, you are greeted by warm swishing tails and happy faces. Softness weaves its way making figure eights around your legs. 

Sinking to the floor letting the backpack slide off, hands moving to the small animal who wants so much attention. Bargains are made: I'll pet you if you warm my hands. 

It is quiet besides the air vent pushing warm air your way, filling you up like a hot air balloon, allowing you to float up to your room. 

Shoes off. Bag unloaded onto the bed. What needs to be done. Grab an empty mug and fill it with warmth. Wrap a blanket around your shoulders, pat beside you, the animal curls up close. 

And you get to work.

*a special thanks to Madeline from The Little Decorator for giving me the opportunity to win Ann Voskamp's The Broken Way