Contrasts: but unpoetically.

I love waking up to rainy mornings. Everything gets very cozy and welcoming: the winds, the blanket that I throw aside because my legs start sweating, the unfinished episode of my comfort show, the unread pages of my book, the humid hall, the steel bottle, the sudden chill water coming from the taps, and the view outside my balcony, which until the last hour had greens against yellows and oranges.

For all i know, contrasts are not always amusing, and there's comfort in blends and similarities, and then this makes sense, because I find a sense of belonging with people I share common interests with, like I could make two cups of the same coffee recipe, watch the same movie, talk about our favorite colors, clothes, and artists; it makes one feel less alone. 

Ironically enough, I can't stop thinking about how contrasts and differences bring in a sense of individuality and uniqueness like how no one else in this room might feel the way I do about rainy mornings.