My Retreat
Saanvi Kunisetty
I settle myself atop the sturdy seat of the sofa, curling my feet up against me. A white pillow lined with the image of newspaper print sits next to me, as puffed up as freshly-spun cotton candy. I scan the seemingly endless titles that overflow the polished black bookshelf. They call out to me desperately, yearning to narrate their untold story. Each tale pledges to be beautiful in its own way. An encumbering tension weighs down on my heart as I wander aimlessly from one title to another, incapable of selecting one. My mind begins to churn like the tumultuous tides of the sea before finally resorting to a languid state of tranquility. I take to dazily observing the tall panes of glass walls that enclose me. Each one is framed with thin honey-colored wood. The lines and patches of beige and gold run their course from top to bottom, racing relentlessly against one another. They avert my mind from the lush forestry on the other side of the glass. Tall trunks of chocolate brown adorned elaborately with hues of emerald green are visible from every direction. Beams of light cascade through, painting strokes of warmth against the canvas of my cheek. They flood the room haphazardly, engulfing me in complete scintillating iridescence. The scent of pumpkin gradually trickles into the room, specked with subtle hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. The spices awaken my dormant senses, stimulating them with an invigorating sense of desire. Rising, I plant my warm feet against the cold marble floor and follow the aroma as the thuds of my traipsing gait echo out rhythmically.
No comments:
Post a Comment