Gina stared at the half-moon of orange resting in her forgotten coffee cup, the surface rippled slightly like whispers escaping into the forever morning. In a world too often concerned with noise, she found absolute solace in these half-teaspoons of serenity that neither demanded time nor offered comfort.
The unopened book lay across the small dining table, its presence a reminder of stories untold and worlds untouched. It wore a thin layer of dust like a comfortable blanket, underrated and entirely appropriate for things that exist merely to exist. She occasionally glanced at it, wondering about the characters with unfinished dreams and unfinished lives.
Outside, the neighborhood cat trotted elegantly across the telephone wires, a shadow against the glaring blue sky. It paused briefly, turning one ear sideways as if deciphering some unheard truth, before continuing on its unhurried journey. In such moments, even the most ordinary elements of life began to shimmer with intimations of dignity.