Mornings

This morning I sat in the back seat of a dying car, music softly bleeding through broken speakers, and I watched the world wake up.

Forty-five minutes passed, fourteen cars at intervals, and I thought of you in the soft white light.

I saw so many people. Well, only four, but each is so important. Each were only living their lives.

Their own lives, separate from mine. And I felt small, in a pleasant way. Like listening to the silence and watching the stars move in the midst of a minorly major blackout.

Mornings feel like the universe is reaching out to me and flowing from my center all at once. I can do no right, I can do no wrong, I can only exist. I can only do.

But I did nothing. I only watched my breath, cloudy, and the sky, cloudless. 

Suddenly the six dollars worth of gas in my tank didn’t matter, your absence, though like a hole in my chest, was only an opportunity to think, to leave you sweet messages full of only the most worthy thoughts.

And I love you. A million times or more, I love you.

And while it was a relief to get into the warm and crowded car of a friend, I missed my quiet, solitary morning.

Until you called me. And then it all came rushing back.

 

This poem is about: 
My community

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741