The house is quiet.
The ticking of the clock fills the void of silence and somehow becomes more vivid; the moments of my life ticking away like the money speeding out of your pocket at a gas pump. For some reason however, this time, I feel no call to action, no mission to pull me from my bed.
I feel the space in between the ticks and the tocks, my breathe in's and the breathe nots. I feel the moment and eternity at the same time and I wonder if simply laying here and experiencing moment after moment would be enough. If I just spent my time dreaming and never making those dreams a reality, would that be a waste? If thoughts are energy and take life when you think them, does not the dreamer create reality through the dream?
All these thoughts occur to me at once, like a waking, quiet euphoria. Then, I sit up, stretch and go do my work, knowing that it doesn't matter and, at the same time, means everything.