In the morning.

In the morning I feel at ease.  The day hasn’t come into me yet. I am no more than a bag of breath in the morning. I wake with no opinion. No agenda. No flight response towards the day. I simply am. In the mornings.  

I’m not lying to myself yet. Before my feet touch the floor. Before the house wakes. Before the work calls. For those few moments I am truly myself. I belong only to myself. There’s no need to alter myself in those moments. I am just me.  

It’s not time yet to pretend to care. To listen. 

I’m not a good friend, sacrificing moments of self-reflection to lay salve on someone else’s traumas.  

I’m not a sister, providing the very easements I can’t seem to hold for myself.  

I am not a lover, trained to identify desires and fulfill needs to keep peace. In the mornings. 

Sixty seconds. 

Sixty seconds each day, I get to be. In the mornings. 

Before sounds come crashing in. Before light. There is the darkness and there is me.  

Whoever that is.  

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