The Morning Dance (Substack post)

The morning spills into my room and it’s loud, loud with things all over the place. A pile of washed clothes stares at me from the chair in the corner, judging the quiet in my hands. A cup of water on my nightstand begging me to drink it and the sheets are still twisted around my legs. I hate that. I breathe out. I close my eyes. Starting a new day is a task and to be honest, sometimes I need the courage. I’m not ready. My underwear feels tight around my thighs, so stupidly tight. A small reminder that my body is betraying me. I adjust myself to feel more comfortable. Isn’t it humorous? How we hold the shame of other people? How we wear it as if we were spies slipping into a new disguise. I dig my nail into the palm of my hand. Anything to not think of that. My thoughts move forward, now it’s you. Only for a quick second, can’t linger, can’t think of you, not now. You’re still able to crush my reality with the faintest passing of a thought. If only I could join you there in my mind. We could pick flowers from each other’s teeth and turn them into secret gardens, meant only for us. We could run around cities of lonely people and forgotten dreams. We could smile and mean it. We could, but I can’t think of that. Not now, not when I am a forest fire taking everything with me. You don’t deserve that. I climb out of the tangled sheets and let the air tickle my thigh. A new day to start.

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