Pink

By Erin Deborah Waks

Do you ever just have a perfect day? One of those days where all the things that have been on your mind all week, all the stresses and worries and anxieties that seem to have consumed you, seem not to matter quite so much? Those days where life reminds you why it’s worth living, for no reason at all other than the sky seems bluer, the sun brighter, and the pace more perfect than yesterday?

Today was one of those days. I was so tired, and yet so lucid. It wasn’t even a special day. Just a day where I did all the simple things I love, one after the other, as though creating a tick list of momentary, ordinary joys and working slowly through it. I had a lazy morning. I baked cookies. I sat and wrote poetry with a coffee; I believe almost all good comes from a pen and a flat white. I went to an art exhibition. I read my book. I had my Sunday evening yoga class, which has become somewhat of an essential ritual in maintaining my weekly sanity. I cooked dinner just for myself. And before I knew it I had spent the whole day by myself.

Maybe it was the sound of the water as I walked along the bank of the Thames. Maybe the clouds of the sunset I watched behind St Paul’s Cathedral, a golden hour glow. Maybe it was the busker singing Skinny Love as though serenading the love of his life, sending chills down my spine with his soft vibrato. Maybe it was walking through the city amid the biting cold. Maybe it’s because today, everything was sort of - pink. Or maybe it’s just because of how I woke up today, all white sheets and warm and sleepy. Maybe it was set up to be good from the start.

Who knows. All I know is that it was rose-coloured, salmon pink and utterly perfect.