In the morning I opened the window, and the room immediately became somehow stupidly joyful. In the cup - just coffee. On the shoulder - just a T-shirt. And inside - a feeling as if this is a day that needs to be wrapped in a ribbon.

A holiday is not an event. It is how you open the refrigerator and rejoice at the orange. How the music sounds exactly at the tempo at which you walk.

I noticed that the coolest moments happen without a timer. Not when "it's time", but when "why not". I put on a dress in which no one will see me, turned on my favorite song and danced in front of the mirror as if someone was applauding.

Sometimes I just take out a book, read a paragraph, put it aside. Not because it's boring, but because it's delicious. Like chocolate - a little at a time.

I arrange the fruits by color, watch the sun set on the windowsill, and think: this is also a holiday. And no need for fireworks.

Sometimes I go outside not for shopping, but for... a feeling. Fabric in the wind. Lips, slightly sticky from the peach. And the thought that everything on this day has already happened right.

I don't want to wait for the weekend. I don't need an invitation. I arrange small holidays inside myself. From smells, touches, tastes. And no one knows, but I'm on holiday. Every day.