The Morning

Half sitting, half laying, the quilt with its intricate patterns merely a visual focal point for escape. I turn my head, but the yellows and reds of the sun and the trees in the tapestry on the wall aren’t enough. I long for the rays of the morning sun to peek through my window. The morning is my favorite time with the crisp air and the sun rays that escape through the leaves of the trees. The setting of the sun doesn’t necessarily depress me, but there is something about the morning. There is something about opening my eyes to a new day of possibility, a new chance for feeling up. There is something about the memory of his lips on my cheek long before the rise of the sun. 

I turn my phone on at the start of the day, but I don’t dare look at it and get pulled into the rabbit hole of social media. I take that first sip of crisp, clear water from the cup on my nightstand that reads “Making Spirits Bright,” and immediately I focus - I focus on not ticking off my list of to dos. The morning is for drinking water and feeling refreshed and walks in the sunshine. The morning is for the leisure of reading - and maybe even the study of that second language I've wanted to learn.  

Bathing in the sun and the trees and the landscaping of the beautiful houses on the block where I don’t live. But the flowering trees and the tulips and the quiet keep me from feeling down. The feelings of up and down are a story for another time - this time is for the morning.