Pause.

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm actually at home. I'm watching the sun sift through the slats of the wooden shutters that line the windows of my apartment.

Out one window is the city. Hustling, bustling, breathless and flying by at a dizzying speed. Just right outside. I can hear the boulevard.

Out another window is our backyard garden. Quite literally the exact opposite. Serene. Green. Lush. Tranquil and full of heavy sighs of patience. Calm.

Quite literally my couch and I, clad in a weekend t-shirt, a fierce fuschia pedicure and a freshly showered skin that smells of mangoes, are smack dab in the middle of it all.

City and country.
Rushed and relaxed.
Grinding metal and engines pushed to breaking and the gentle cacophony of the birds in the trees.

What a nice place to be . . . right?

. . .and before you get jealous, really think about that last time you paused. It's sad that I, Miss Hershey McJones, can't even remember. When was the last time I did something my heart wanted - rather than what I thought I should do? When was the last time I said no? Dammit, when was the last time I said yes? Yes without waiting for the complete question to be asked because I was so full of Want to comply? When was the last time I allowed a release to the dam of words that are constantly filling my head?*

I. CAN'T. REMEMBER.

I'm rusty on the Pause. Gotta lubricate.

Footnotes:
- I swear to God, some people see in colors and sounds. All I see is words and ways to sexually manipulate the alphabet. I love to love language. Nerd alert.