Warm is when your grandpa's cigarette sends fragrant smoke swirling into the air of a small home when you are young. It's the middle of the winter but you don't feel the cold. Your grandma's smile crinkles her face from her chin to her hair line, an evidence of all the smiles, frowns, and tears she's given in her long life. Right now, she is smiling proudly at you as you read to them an above-grade level book of poems about Christmas and drinking the hot chocolate she gave you as an incentive. You snuggle next to her as the heat of bodies and coco and contentment moves from your core into your extremities as you sink into the soft couch and subconsciousness.
YOU ARE READING
Eunoia
RandomI will do my best to document the small place in my mind that knows that every thing in life can be outstandingly perfect.
