my room.

when all of my practicing is finished for the day
and all of the dishes are clean,

i lie in my bed,
close my eyes,
and imagine that my little room
isn't in new york city anymore,
but that instead, it's part of a little house,
on a farm,
in the middle of nowhere.

i imagine that if i were to open my window,
i wouldn't see all of the yellow taxis
or my corner bodega...
rather i would see an endless field,
and the sun setting.

 if i were to open my door,
i'd find mum, fixing dinner
{in a beautiful kitchen}
for all of our most favorite people. would smell of rosemary

and all of our most favorite people would be scattered about,
sitting on the porch,
playing with the puppies,
sipping wine,

but then i really do hear laughing
{and it is roomies}

and i'm reminded that reality is sweet, too.