She gazed away from the invading light that snuck around the curtains. The alarm clock on the bedside table beckoned her out of the Egyptian cotton sheets; it read 12 am.
She gave one last gradual feel to the 1500 thread count. She was touching a cloud that slipped through her fingers smoothly. She took the sheets and made the bed in tidy order; smoothing out every crease.
She walked down the stairs, strolling down the hallway leading towards the coffee pot. She was determined to wake with the comforting smell of traditional house blend.
Her feet padded against the cool tiles back towards the room. Her clothes scattered the floor. She picked them up, tossing them in her bag nonchalantly.
She poured her coffee in a mug, dumped the rest, and rinsed out the pot.
She turned to leave, gazing back to see everything was how she found it.

Her smile was evident. She always loved playing house.
She sauntered down the street, aimlessly wandering to nowhere in mind.
A lost, and homeless soul.
At least she had coffee.

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