Coffee, sun, in the breeze.
A breeze to cool the air,
a breeze to disrupt the heat upon my arm.
The breeze pulling and pushing my
strands of clean, fresh, soft hair.
There are birds, they are alive
and have no idea who I am,
or perhaps that I am even under them.
I am aware of them.
I see them above and I smile; it is brief.

I feel clean today,
the air purifies all around me, and inside me.
I wear no make-up, and I feel beautiful,
because I am here, and alive and doing what I feel is good.
Drinking the coffee, holding the cup,
so clean and perfect, steam rising,
swirling, becoming lost in the air.
The aroma stolen by my nose.
I love coffee.
The heat through the cup on my hands makes me smile again.

I see art, and I know it is someones real life.
I see the urging desperate attempt to make us see what it is and how she feels.
I look at it that way and feel it deeply for a moment,
and appreciate that I can see that, and not have to tell anyone,
just know that I appreciate the art she has created.
She doesn't know it and never will,
but in this moment that art is for me,
me and my hair and coffee and wind, that bird too.
After that, I see the art for my eyes.
It is nice to see. My eyes enjoy it.
Grass is green, sky is blue and I love you.
I love me, and I need more moments like these to remind me.
Even if they are only imagined.