It’s winter. Getting out of bed takes you longer than waiting for the snow that falls and freezes in the night to thaw. You hit the snooze button in a rhythmic pattern: buzz, swish, click, buzz, swish, click – you listen to the sound, reach your hand from under the covers, and turn off the alarm.
The day will be short, you know, since the seasonal solstice has passed – the sun pays no mind to all the work you have ahead of you. Turning onto your side and pulling the blanket up closer to your head in one continuous motion, you let yourself linger in the intermediate space between sleeping and waking hours; it’s the equivalent of expelling a prolonged sigh before taking on a new task.
Lingering: a protraction, an extension, a slow saunter. You don’t do it often enough. When your day is reeling faster than a playground roundabout, take out a piece of chocolate. Unwrap it, hold it in your hand. Notice the drizzled ganache, the smattering of sprinkles, the indentations on breakup chocolate.
Then, put it on your mouth. Do with it what you will: let it melt, chew and let the pieces disperse on your tongue before swallowing. Note how your pulse seems to slow ever so slightly, your shoulders to soften as the chocolate just did. Linger, and let chocolate be a small ritual in relaxation.