🐢

How could I have written about it before I felt it? When I wrote about it as an overimaginative teenager, it certainly did feel like I felt it

What's 'it', you ask?

Feeling the Sunday sun on your head, the welcoming warm kiss of a fiery yellow friend on the back of your exposed neck, especially after a bland workweek of being eclipsed by office walls. Such delicious comfort.

But how desirable is such comfort if it bred complacency? And how much is the belief in your complacency driven by the convenience of that comfort?

The regularity of the comfort, rather the spontaenity or lack of predictability, perhaps determines the level of complacency.

But all of this is just overcomplication. Breaking things down is so easily overdone. It's like seeming guiltier when pushed to prove your innocence. Or burning the lasagna when shooting a live cooking tutorial.

But no matter truly matters if you're focused on keeping it simple

And luckily for me, your simple equals mine

Most times.

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