To Life.
Sitting on her grandfather's comfortable green lounge chair — worn after years of use, from even before her grandfather acquired it, probably from one of many antique shops frequented by the man — Lila drank her glass of water. She drank the glass of water, she thought, the way only the contemplative or the depressed do. None of those normal sips. She took long, drawn out sips. Sip. Sip. Sip. Sip. Then, finally, swallow. As though even the task of drinking involved too much effort. In shared company with many other daily tasks we all complete. Teeth brushing, showering, hair washing, dressing, weather checking, bus catching. Routine. Monotonous.
