The mornings are strange for an unsettled mind, especially those mornings in which you have nothing much going for you during the day, so you wake up with an empty feeling. By the way, it wasn't a typo. I did write good "mourning" on purpose. Writing free flow means that the back of your mind has the idea, and then your fingers follow, or at least they try.
On busy days, I wake up ready - like a soldier on a battlefield - and I am able to go to sleep with satisfaction (not happiness) but a sense of purpose. On days in which I am allowed to just be alive simply for the purpose of being alive, the world seems more grey and I wait anxiously for the sunset. It's almost as if I don't matter unless I'm useful. Maybe that's one thing that I'm mourning, my right to be alive just because... and by alive I mean unapologetically me.
Sometimes, right after a wonderful life experience, I wake up the next day with a heavy melancholy; just a desire to cry for all the reasons that I forgot to cry the day before, when my mind was well. I mourn the sadness that took a break, even though it was the joy's turn, after all, we must have balance.
On days I have love by my side I remember all the past loves that ate at my soul and I compare, analyze, question or fight to erase them completely, something not possible. Nothing dies, it just transforms.
All I can do is slowly get up, make my cup of coffee, step outside and listen to the birds, observe the sky, indulge my thoughts, observe my soul, let the waves crash until the sea settles a bit. If I must cry, I cry, because I am mourning. I am mourning the little girl that once knew how to wake up with hope and today wakes up with dread. Except those days, those special days in which I actually wake a up to a good MORNING.
No comments:
Post a Comment