All of the Saints.

November first is a day made for reflection. At least where I come from it was. It was the day on which the entire family would try to gather and discuss matters with those who had passed away...
Yesterday, far away from the graves of my ancestors, I just felt oddly guided by some invisible force wanting to just tell me what I should do a lot of and what should be simply left alone.
I woke up at three in the afternoon. My "breakfast" was a meal I managed to take in at around 5:30 or so (and it was also the only meal of the day). My favorite water was oddly enough on sale, and when I wanted to buy some Polish beer, the six-pack discharged its content, launched an explosion in front of my feet, five bottles smashed right in front of me onto the supermarket floor.
It was late, the workers at the supermarket could not care less about the confused me, telling them about the incident.
There would have been this really important party to attend to, but once I built the shoe phone for my costume...
I decided to light the candles...
It was all saints after all, not halloween...
The apartment could have been on fire after I woke up,
a few hours later,
curled up in the chair,
next to the last flickering flame.
It was a very odd and quiet day...
or rather evening...
I feel as if I had spent it under a large protective hand.