I like sleeping a lot. When I say a lot, it means I can hardly noticed my pillow lying on the floor. Or my blanket not serving its purpose of providing me warmth and comfort I felt like there were massive windmills in the room. And worst, raped with consent by Derek Ramsay. (Just go back to the first two options).
Sometimes, I sleep like I cannot feel I have two legs from hours of walking the space of the ICU. In the middle of a good slumber, the most unholy of all hours when my saliva is at its verge of doing its job, my phone would then ring. There I knew that Popeye is not obsolete. She is dressed in black nightie looking at her phone reading the caller's name: Robz. In an instant, the saliva disappears, like a morning dew has seen the morning sun rays. "Did I wake you up?". Good morning Sis! No! Of course, no. The quick answer with eyes like those of Popeye.
I do not regard it as an emergency. Especially if there is a tone of excitement in my sister's voice . As simple as sharing the details of her previous going out with her crush. Or just the coffee shop dream we long wanted to have. Even if the conversation took place with a 5-hour difference in my watch.
Because anything related to my family is always a top priority. Irregardless of the hour of the day. Irregardless if my voice is hoarse from clogged nose. Or the temperature is so inviting for another snooze. It's a pleasure to be the version of Popeye.
I spell Love as Time.
And Time is equated to Love.
No other noun can replace the other.
They are interchangeably inseparable.
Like a cord is to a placenta.
Like a heart is to its beat.
I knew what my Love Language is.
Time is the name.
Love is the nickname.
No comments:
Post a Comment