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Writer's pictureBjørk O'Hara

One December day

Updated: Dec 18, 2023

Waking up in a foreign bed, not sure how I got there. No wait, I do.

It is one of the best nights of sleep, I am not tired and not wishing to sleep again.

Knowing that I have got to be up to go out soon,

I drink my coffee and eat my bowl of cereal, whilst I sit here writing.

Time ticks on, the time gets later, and I stay still in bed writing.

I get up, pull on the clothes, that I put aside the night before, and carry on writing.

Washed my breakfast bowl and cup, brushed my teeth and brushed my hair.

Before leaving the door, I looked behind me, smiled and closed the door.


I am now sitting in a cafe waiting for my coach to take me to Norwich.

I ordered a hot chocolate, that came to me cold and with a bitter taste.

Bus after bus drives past, but never the bus that I need.

So I sit, stuck to my seat, as people come in and out of this small cafe.

Time ticks by, closer and closer to my time.

I have been here long enough, at this rate I might just stay here.

Why not camp out, none of these buses are mine.

And my eyes are becoming dreary, I am starting to see things, not that I didn't see things before. Just more, I need sleep.


I will wait a little longer, I have been waiting since midnight, who says I can't wait a little longer?!

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