three conversations in a bundled bed

Last night I sat in my bed as the afternoon leaned into the evening
My mum makes these gorgeous hand made quilts
and so every surface in our house is covered in bundles of them
you need to wade through them to find suitable seating surface area

So I sat on my bed, in a tangled bundle of blankets
and there were books and diaries sort of strewn sporadically
throughout the different layers of my blanket-cake-bundle
i could feel a book against my left heel
another against my hip
whenever i moved it made a rustling, crinkling sound

I felt comfortable, comforted, ensconsed by what delights me

Cat called with a question
just one single question
and sparked the kind of conversation that i crave
but dont know how to ecourage, or facilitate

the afternoon light was fading into 6 pm
and i thought to myself
how generous a friendship this is
how much i get from this friendship

i wrote some more, i have a new turquoise diary
I am in that delightful mindset
of a ubiqutious desire to record

gen called
and we talked about happiness in sadness
it was just what i needed
the support of talking with my best friend
i dont need her to say anything, no empty words
and she knows that. she knows what i do not need.
the comfort in her voice, the support in that space
was perfect.

and then much later in the evening
I texted,
flat on my back, arms pinned to my sides, with dinosaur hands
to a new friend
about new wonderings
about physical surroundings
and i wondered, not for the first time
about distractions, desires and motivations