to love is duty

pink floral doodles
circling and spiraling
always hated the femininity of pink.
now a strange fondness for it.
but these pink sheets
a light rose hue after rain drops settle
folding in and out
my gaze following and contouring the lines
my body warmed by its layers.
and this fabric sits on a cot
and this cot rests in a room
this room with 3 sleeping ladies near
and this all amidst a city titled Gitarama
where 7 days of research wait to occur.

try to rest.
try to sleep.
try to bury my head within my pillow made of a red blanket.
but
a moment in my mind:
thoughts of two coffee bars.
the aromas and essences still dancing near
must close the eyes. but rather vibrantly awake.
and then i write within the blue journal.
wish it weren't blue. i like red.
at least the pages are white. no lines. nothing limiting.
scribbling rapidly
emptying the crowds that blur
open a book.
Kierkegaard: WORKS OF LOVE
he says "to love is duty."
dwell in this moment.
to love is duty
love.
duty.
and if love is thought of as duty, jealousy is gone, fear is gone, false persona: gone.
this is really all.
only moments ago i sat my head on a red blanket.
attempting to venture into a night of imagination
a night of vivid dreams.
only now i sit wide awake pondering the philosopher's words.
fearing the seven oclock alarm.
and awaiting morning tea.
so what is duty?
to love.
where does this duty exist?
within proximity i suppose
pink floral doodles and Kierkegaard.
and to love is duty