Dear Early Morning,

Dear Early Morning,

The other day, my alarm roused me from slumber at 5:02am, for the first time in a long while, as lately I’ve been waking up on my own accord much earlier. And my first thought was: Shoot! I slept in!

I have a wish to draw you out for as long as possible, these days, like the warm, slow drag of one’s last cigarette or perhaps, more appropriately, like a masterful song I never want to end, as a cigarette connotes a distasteful vice, whereas music can be translated into the heart of all beings.

You are the fragrant waters I bathe in, rendering me anew each day; the magnetic north I set my compass to, so that I may stay the course and not run aground.

You are the dance I fall into with the whole of everything I’ve got – and you catch me and cradle me with the arms of orchestral silence.

Like cups of earthen tea, you soothe and aliven me in a way no one and nothing else can. And the more I bask in your unfolding, the more my grit and static evaporate like mist, uncovering all that remains.

With all the love I can shake up,


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