Yesterday morning, I woke up an hour before my alarm clock started ringing and J the silly boy already lying at the edge of the bed by my side waiting for me to wake up. And while the boyfriend is still sleeping soundly beside, I decided to head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of warm tea, snuggled back into my sheets and get back to where I left off with my new read the night before. But that silly pup kept giving me that sleepy innocent puppy eyes that says “Jiejie, play with me please? I’ve been waiting for you since I woke up in the morning.” And the moment I stroked his little head and said “Gimme five minutes, and I’d play with you okay?”, and that boy continued snuggling in bed quietly and waited. This little fella always tug my heartstrings, and my heart ached a little to know that he’s ageing as the day pass.
The serenity that morning was priceless – the morning rays that was shining into the room; feeling comfortable in my sleep wear; my favourite boys in the very same confined space, living and breathing; the warmth from the cup of tea while I tucked myself beneath the sheets in the air-conditioned room; and the enticing storyline that Murakami kept me engrossed with. That morning was perfect and there was nothing to complain about. Well, maybe just one, and that’s the fact that this perfection was short-lived and I had to break it by heading to work.
Mornings in bed. I love mornings in bed.