You are one of those people “blessed” with the burden of waking up early, you can’t leave things alone. You take a cold, hard look.
Your window frames a steel-blue cloud. You lift the window shade just enough to reveal the cloud’s lighter blue edges. Caught between night and day, you leave it there, you peek.
You feel foggy, strung-out and stormy like the weather forecast, but the weather forecast might be wrong, so you decide to just keep it foggy.
Rain starts to play on the window pane, and you listen for notes you think you might hear. You listen, like the many times you have listened before.
Insanity isn’t the question, you think. It is sanity that is ironic, yes, sanity is an attitude. It is cryptic.
Gentle taps of rain synchronize with your breathing, you feel a connection. You lift the shade a little higher, notice that the fog is burning off, but the cloud remains.
You move closer to the window, you won’t get to the bottom of it, but you have gotten closer, and you stare at the cloud. You imagine it soft, fluffy, filled with gentle sighs. You imagine the haze and drag of it lets you go.
You imagine it momentary.
You decide to have coffee with this pretty sky, so you lift the shade all the way up—look out—the day is coming.
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