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There are mornings like this, long and mellow, full of slow moves and even slower thoughts, quiet and pieceful, like torn from some book. It lingers you in your bed, hides the sun from your eyes, keeps you between wakefulness and dreams, fills you with some awkward feeling of melancholy. You huddle yourself between sheets and you try to gather some courage to get up and stand on a cold bedroom floor, to make yourself a coffee, to look through the window, to wake up under a warm shower. But you stay lying in bed like chained with your blankets and pillows while the morning whispers in your ear - take it easy, babe... take.. it.. easy.
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