Enter the Worship Circle
I lie here upon my bed, as I replay my day through my head. The dorm I live in, smells of cleaning supplies mixed with my perfume .The white cinder block walls are unfriendly in sight and touch, always adapting to the temperature it is outside. I look across at my roommate as she lies upon her bed, reading a book. I pretend to be writing in my journal as she concludes her reading for the night. As she lays the books aside, I hide my eyes from her view, not wanting her to see me observing her.
Her coffee colored locks fall upon her shoulders, some curling and falling over her tiny ears; other strands, straight as a piece of paper, fall down her partly arched back. Her green eyes sparkle like the sun hitting the morning dew and in the instant before she closes them, her eyes shine as if the moon is hiding behind each one of her eyelids.
She sits upon a quilt. Its patchwork, battered, torn and definitely aged, seems to hold many memories and secrets. patches of red, blue, paisley, and other patterns, come together with tiny stitching to form the masterpiece.
She sits in silence and her chin lightly touches her neck as she puts her head down. Her feet get tangled in a bundle of toes and quilt as she slides her legs underneath her body. Not affected by this distraction, she continues to arrange her body, silent and thoughtful in each
movement. Finally situated, she is on her knees. Her body whispers a sign of relief as she rest on the bottoms of her feet.
Her fingers intertwine, bringing her two hands together as one. Seriousness and reverence showing on her face, she holds her hands together...