coffee break | brown butter eggnog scones

Something about it. About streetlights at night undulating like dancers across my windshield. Radio up, voice raised, rattle and hum of engine, crunch of gravel undertire – the chains are loose and the iron bars split to shards. My hair is wild and my eyes are glittering and my heart is suddenly nocturnal. A stellar case of paradox. Me, a diurnal creature, amicably shaking hands with the stars. I feel like young should feel. I feel like peace should feel. I feel, undoubtedly, how I should feel.