Fuzzy Slippers (day 271)

If it wasn’t for this cursed intense desire
To see what is behind the door
To take that red pill with a glass of water
I maybe would have had a nice sleep last night
Listening to something nice and easy
Perhaps a small fire cackles in the background
Or the warm smell of tea freshly boiled wafts in
Warm, fuzzy pajamas, with nice slippers to boot

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