Room temperature water.
Sitting for hours at a cafe either reading, writing, or staring out the windows at passing cars.
The feeling of a clean face after long day.
Talking in a British accent when I’m drunk.
Telling off men in Spanish when I’m drunk.
Dancing. Any style.
East Coast pizza.
Looking at my reflection and studying my face (yet I still have my doubts that what I see is who I am).
Warm nights, cold mornings.
Movies where certain sounds are enhanced and isolated and the characters speak but don’t always say what they mean and I have to look for the meaning in their eyes, their hands, the clothes that they’re wearing or in the type of lighting.
Going barefoot during summer rainstorms. The warm cement under my strong brown feet reminds me of summers from when I was a child running through the sprinklers at my grandma’s house. My toes are covered in bits of grass and dirt; the water is icy cold but the California sun is unrelenting and beams down on the yard, highlighting the moment. I am jumping and running and my belly is warm from laughter. It is this warm laughter I feel under my feet in those summer rainstorms.
Coffee (really should go without saying).
Chocolate chip ice cream with a little bit of hot coffee poured over it.
New York-style bagels and cream cheese.
The idea of being a mystery more than actually being one.
Organizing cluttered spaces.
Car rides with my sister where I can stare out the window and let the music fill my mind and shift my emotions.
The sounds of a crowded soccer stadium.
That empty space my mind floats off to after I’ve been running or working out for a while. In this space the world is quiet and light though my breathing is heavy. I am free from thought. I am all muscle and bone and joints and sweat.