Mornings of Solace

I woke up this morning to a sunlight caressing my skin with a glow of solace. Individual rays that had detailed the golden hairs that ran along my supple arms. My body laid flaccid, yielding to its warmth and comfort, while I rubbed my heavy eyelids awake. The birds crooned balming lullabies from the trees above that shaped my window frame. A window that furnished my room in golds and greens in the early mornings, and twinkled of city street lights beneath the iridescent moon. Recently time had lost its grip on me, and the days melted away under the comfort of my blankets and the pounding within my head. 

My t-shirt cradled my empty stomach in convincing efforts to prolong my eventual shift out of bed. But as I heard caffeine’s whisper drifting from the kitchen, I heaved my aching legs from underneath their ivory comforter, and my body collided with an icy breeze. Gooseflesh roughly dressed my bare legs, as I carried myself to the bathroom mirror disparaging what my deep sleep had designed. 

My hair lay matted, my eyes still appeared heavy atop the bags weighing them down, and my torso was sheathed with lines in remembrance of my absorbing sleep. I ran my hands under the warming water splashing its refreshment upon my naked features. The droplets had danced along my greasy skin, dripping off the tips of my eyelashes, and planting their remnants on the stark grays of my shirt. Grabbing the towel beside my soaked counter, a battlefield of fallen hairs and unwashed toothpaste, I patted my face dry, slipping out of the door. 

As my dewy eyes soon adjusted to the brightness of the sun within our waking living room, my coffee pot coaxed my name over and over until I surrendered to its yearning. I had filled the coffee filter with the grounds cornered in my kitchen and set off to open my current read, entering a whole new world more wonderful than my own. 

A place of trees older than my greatest grandmother, fields of green that whispered in the summer wind, and birds that not only crooned in the mornings but adjoined the never setting sun. A world incomparable to mine, and one of beauty, freedom, and dreams. 

I draped my languishing limbs over our couch dreaming of a servant to serve my coffee on a decorated plate, but grudgingly got back on my feet for the cup of coffee my brain craved. Each step to the kitchen more dreadful and heavy than the last as I drifted further away from the pages of my book. Stolen ice cubes from their molds were generously tossed into a cup, as the hot black liquid drowned them instantaneously. Trailing back, I swirled my saving grace with a curved metal straw, swishing its contents back and forth; content.

In flooding relief, I reached our broken couch, sliding my legs underneath me, contouring my body within the nooks and pockets, and submerging my eyes into the transformative words of my book – I noted this is my happy place. Forever.

MSkye:
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