Some days are just perfect. They do not always start like that, usually not. But some do end that way. Perhaps it starts being too hot, or too cold. Maybe it started late, or even too early.

And then something happens.

The weather changes. It’s no longer too hot nor too cold. It’s just right. There’s a swift breath of wind moving along side. Your window is open and you feel fresh. Fine. Perfect.

There’s a book in your hands. It doesn’t have to be particularly good or even great, but it usually ends up being that way. For that moment. For that time.

You’re lying in bed. Or maybe resting next to the trunk of a tree. Maybe it’s just sand in a beach, or you sitting in a park. But the book is right there with you, and it speaks to you. It blends.

There’s music somewhere. That song starts playing and fills the room. It’s not a song you had listened that hard before, or maybe ever till now. But now you do, and the lyrics sing to you, and the music is right.

Every element, every talk, every word, every tune. They all join up around you and they are not too loud, nor too boring. Everything is perfect.

That moment, that impossible moment, then goes on to last forever. For a while, at least. And you take it in, open your laptop, and you feel the need to write about it, trying to cherish it in the only way you know. And then you do.