Morning Sun

The winter sun is so orange. It seems so much brighter than the sun in June and yet I can look at it with my eyes wide open. There's frost on the cars going past my window and the birds that haven't already gone south are taunting the kitten through the glass. I have a peaceful song playing and my coffee is freshly brewed. These moments are so gently treasured. I sink into them without guilt and relish that I'm alone with myself.

Landslide starts to play and suddenly mom is with me too. I can smell her hair and see her smile. I can hear her voice with mine as I sing along with Stevie. I let the emotion of the words flow over me and I don't mind when my eyes swell a bit with tears.

The sun is more yellow now but still not a summer sun. I can see the cold outside in the breath from passersby, the exhaust from cars, the slow melt of frozen dew.

Now as the sun starts to make its way across the keyboard the rays become sharp. They pierce through the blinds and into my eyes. I wince against them, a hand to my forehead shielding.

Later the sun rides high in the sky, reminding me the day is going to go on. I feel it's warmth through the window, know it's deceiving. I don't want to go outside. I don't want to see the light. I want to do nothing I need to do.

The sun will come out tomorrow.

Just

Just don't be nice to me.

If you're nice to me than I'll think you care and when you eventually show me that you don't...  I don't want to feel that. Not again.

If you're nice to me, I'll cry. And when I cry it makes me feel weak...I don't want you to see that. Not again.

Just leave me alone in my darkness. Don't ask me if I'm ok. Don't offer to sit with me or hug me. Don't touch me with your kindness or your hands.

Just let me feel this. Let me breath it in and fill my lungs with it. Let me drown.

Are you ok?

I'm ok. Sort of. I'm getting through the day.

Well I think you're a nifty person.

Even when I'm like this?

I know this isn't the real you.

Choice

She's been there for a few months now. I recognize her shopping cart from halfway down the block. It has a red and white afghan that hangs off the side. Sometimes she's asleep when I go past. Sometimes, she sees me and looks away. I tried smiling at her once but she shook her head. A man was with her once. He had lots of bags with him but no blankets. His feet were wet from standing in the rain. He was wearing slippers.


Sometimes she's across the street, curled  up on the bus stop bench. She covers her head with the afghan when she tries to sleep.

I wonder how she got there, where she came from. I wonder how I can help her, if she'd let me if I tried. I wonder who the man was and if he'll be back someday. I wonder where she goes at night-she just always seems to be there.

I walked home tonight with a grocery bag and my coat. It was pouring down rain and I thought how I couldn't wait to get home and out of my wet clothes. I was replaying the day in my mind, thinking about things I could have done better at work. I wasn't looking forward to coming home and doing chores-laundry, dishes...

I got closer to the bus stop where she'd been this morning and saw that her cart was tucked under cover. I didn't see her until I got closer and then all I saw was her feet sticking out from under a blanket. I glanced at her from under my rain soaked hood and saw her foot move. I couldn't see her face because it was covered with clothes, blankets, and other pieces of her life.

I turned the corner and swallowed hard. Tears pricked my eyes as I rounded the corner to home. Without a word, I'd been reminded how very lucky I am.