I was sitting there, being myself; the self that sits moving her fingers and thinking about little non-important, but maybe chat-worthy subjects.
My feet were hidden in old shoes; playing with the floor. Eyes wondering off to your bookshelf (I liked your compilation).
I was being myself; the self that can keep quiet for a long time and hardly ever gets bored.
My hands were cold, because I had just taken a shower. My hair still wet. The songs kept coming, one after another; what a playlist is supposed to be (A nice selection - I thought).
You were cooking for both of us, which was quite nice of you. You were being yourself; the self that can make rice and funny conversations at the same time.I was hungry and happy; I think it was the same for you.