caseybeewrites.


Snippets, scribbles and quick writes.
The written word, derived from this mind of mine.
A collection of my thoughts, my imagination. My stories.

My writing, in the raw.

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Comfort at it’s finest.

I can imagine it now.

A few years in the future, it’s a lazy Sunday morning. It’s raining outside, but hues of gold are beginning to break through the clouds and gleaming against the raindrops on our bedroom window, curtains open; illuminating the cream walls with diamonds. You’re shirtless, I’m in your sweater. It’s cold outside, and it’s a little cold in our room, too. We’re wrapped up within the sheets, I’m laying on your chest, hair a bit of a mess. I trace the tattoo on your arm that you’ve always talked about getting in high school that you’ve finally gotten done. The alarm clock glows a soft 9:02 in the morning and we’re still a bit sleepy. You ask, What do you want to do today? Mhmm. I’m thinking about just staying in and cooking pancakes, watching some movies and taking long naps for the remainder of the weekend. You reach over to the nightstand table and grab your lighter and light up a swisher. I can see the soft smoke roll off of your lips, the scent of wine and a hint of tobacco settling on the sheets.

Life is good.

Life is ours.

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