I sit staring at packages a few feet away from me.
Of their arrival I wasn't even aware until this evening, when the rain came down plastering my senses with water and night fell shortly after afternoon, when I ventured a small trek outside of my house, just towards the entrance to light up candles that mark the entry, to make it look that bit warm, a little pleasing and disseminate subtle scents of raspberry vanilla, for they are the flavours of my tea lights and candles that stand a flickering gold, moving in tides to a flutter of life that is the air percolating through windows in short gasps.
Ah, but the packages, did I mention I found four packets lying unceremoniously outside of my door, on the welcome mat, sprawled like forgotten notes.
No bell was rung, no one knocked, the packages just left for whenever one wishes to collect, undisturbed and bored.
Now they're inside and I sit staring at them, wondering what they are.
Did I order for them in a fit of aimless gratification from online bazaar?
Should I open them and get disappointed or must I let the mystery build and intrigue my senses?
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