The sounds of birds singing its sweet morning melody woke her up. She stretched her arms over her head in a yawn.
'Was it morning already?'
She didn't feel like waking up, the bed was comfortable, too comfortable. She grips the sheet in her palms. 'This sheet is so soft.' She admired how the fabric felt between her fingers.
A cold breeze then went shivers down her skin, the sweet air entering her nostrils. It smelled of pies. Apple pies.
Her air didn't smell of pies in the mornings. Only smoke and pollution from the cars speeding down the roads.
She listens to the sound of the violin being played beautifully, the chirping birds joining in on the tune as well. It sounded too beautiful, too peaceful.
'To be my home. It couldn't be.' She finally flew out of the sheets and to confirm her thoughts, it was in fact not her home.
She sat upright on the bed, watching around the tiny aesthetic room she was resting in. The bed picked up most of the space.
