the night before the day is still

there’s something strange about the comforting heaviness of the morning. the desire for darkness but embracing the day. there’s weight in everything from the weight of a blanket on your legs to the weight on your eyes that keep them closed. the way the light flares through the window tells me it’s much too early and I almost let the warm weight overtake me once more. but the threat of more day lost gets the better of me. I don’t think the move is mine to make but I wake up anyway. slowly. I don’t have that many slow mornings. much less slow, quiet mornings. there’s a creaking in the stairs and a creaking in my stiff bones from a creaking bed that isn’t mine. there’s a constant buzzing in my ears and buzzing in my head from buzzing bees and busy minds. but it’s nice, nevertheless. the fire that burned the night before has dwindled with the dawn but remembers the flame that lives on in the embers that remain. the fog that scorched wind and wit has since then turned to a cool mist that floats eerily above the grass, still blurring footprints of the night before. but even with the silence and the echoing memories of smoke and stars, the night before is there and the day is here. the night was before and the day is still. the day is still.

- nads;