Comfort is an ultimate form of subjectivity, yet it is the subjective itself which makes it that exactly.
You are overflowing with your own senses, those senses seeping into your whole being. The warm sun pouring down on you, and but once you step off the bus, you are welcomed into the arms of the cool air. You mutter to yourself, in the heart, it is Autumn, it’s here already, isn’t it a little early this year? And the wind, the nostalgia, the pure love for this season and that heart gripping loneliness, all of it.
Those moments when the sound you were dying to listen to, just flutters out of nowhere.
When the warm orange light from the desk lamp flows into the dark space, illuminating the handwriting on the wall. Wind, the sunset, that blue blue sky scattered in between the scribbled letters. It is trapped inside that space, when I re-read those words, I am there again. I am content.
To feel all of that, that small muttering of the heart. the more you try to listen, that feeling of aliveness, not the energetic one, but a quiet gratitude or content, is to define the day, that it was a good good day.
Even though it was a crappy day, when your eye lid falls slowly, and that moment when you slip into the night, you are filled, with that comfort.
P.S I translated the article I wrote for the Japanese word, Kokochiii [心地良い]; pleasant feeling, happy, content, it is not exactly this meaning, hard to describe it in one word, but just like the feeling I’ve written here.