July. Ever has a morning been of such worth to note.

The raindrops splayed all over the window glass. Its clear, hydrating mist unaffecting, but just cascading assymetrically downwards. The pale, vanilla skies invites a feminine coziness, of the heavens consoling, subsiding the melancholy dawn. The mango trees are still, swaying only by breeze, the featherweight unseen. The light, ravishing and radiant, but soft, has it never harsh, peered through the crevice of my blinds. The flourescent faints, and the windows with its light, brings the gray shades of my white painted wall to art. How unmatched this sight has become.... the vanilla skies and the gray shades.... the mist then disappears...