Write a descriptive paragraph about an ice cream cone.

An overwhelming morning

I’m going to come back and write on this later. After I get my kid to school, and learn how to open this particular book store.

wish me a gentle day?

💖💖💖

I did it. I’m sitting at a magical coffee shop next to the bookstore where I’ll be learning how to open this morning. Every bookstore, every shop, they all have their beautiful quirks and eccentricities and learning them creates this electricity in my brain. Like my brain is making new room for specialized knowledge.

I suspect that if you put me in any of my previous places if employment that my body would remember the steps for opening, for closing, and for interacting with the clientele.

This morning I’m drinking a chai latte with espresso and a little heart on top and waiting to go over. With this tiny bit of time, I think I’ll write on my prompt.

*******

Write a descriptive paragraph about an ice cream cone.

I’m not supposed to eat this delightful cone of internal disaster. But it is beckoning me, exquisite and gleaming in the sunlight. The cone is a small slender sugar cone. Taught. At the receiving point, the opening of the cone sits a perfect chocolate and vanilla swirl, twirling upward into a hopeful point. I can imagine the velvet of its texture. Made with cream. Real cream. A temporary creature. The soft serve ice cream cone. Melting almost before I welcome it to my mouth. Once a year I indulge, ignoring my body’s insistence that we can’t have dairy anymore. Is it worth it? Only the first lick. The rest feels like rebellion.

Heart,

Wake