Morning

It’s easy to forget the way the morning can have a beauty. Creeping under eyelids as I wake from dreams that are warm and vivid and too much to ever live in for more than a few seconds that can drift into setting that seem as though they last for years. There was never much of a chance for me in the morning, when my dreams were always so fond and caressing to the things I wanted. But this morning, the rays of early sunlight drown out the surrealist within me, sparking inspiration from the reality of sobriety. There is beauty in everything. And I remember that I don’t have to write a novel every day, and there’s no pressure to move on. I can capture a moment, a person, a scene. These things exist in ever present motion, waiting to be captured by someone willing to listen. But I have refused to listen for the longest time, believing that what I really needed to move forward was hidden in a pipe somewhere or a particular strain of clouding weather. I am ever-changing, growing, and understanding that the world and its beauty has more to offer than I give it credit for. I will open my eyes for the day, let responsibility take a back burner to creativity and the things that I feel, deep into my core.  There is time, there is always time.

I have been waking in a bed that is warm with my own heat, glad for the extra space to stretch, where stuffed animals and extra pillows can pile. They make better company than any human companion I have ever had to embrace. Loneliness seeps into the night like a symptom of the cold, but in the morning everything is perfect and serene. I miss no one and I am very aware of the fact that no one misses me. In the morning the rest of life seems possible, folding out in front of me with the expression that no one else is needed that being content is a state of mind that I have been feigning though it had been available all the time. I will move forward with what’s ahead, I will take things day by day and accept my path as it is. But most importantly, I will feel where feeling is to be felt. No more cowering behind the masks of what I think people want to hear, or straining to cover the truth. No lying to oneself, either. I have always known that life is too short to worry about such little mundanities, but life seems to rub ruts into our skin, into our mind. Unable to claw our way out until we realize just how far we’ve dug ourselves into the ditch.

This morning I will move forward with myself in mind, understanding of the fact that nothing is black and white but everything is a different shade of gray and that in different lights the tones change regardless of how good or bad my eyesight really is. Some people are colorblind and some are ignorant to the fact that there is color at all. I will take the morning as it comes, take the people as they come. With accepting and open arms. I will take myself as I come, and realize that my mistakes are only the stepping stones to the person I am working toward, the one I can be proud of and that causes me to move forward even when I am problematic. Move on for yourself. Move on for myself. Take the desert mornings with acceptance and stop longing for a place that is still several places ahead. It’s impossible to tell where one’s going, only where you are.