love letters and poetry and everything and nothing at all. autobiographical.

The sunshine at 7 AM is exhilarating

intoxicating

the way the near full moon is when the day is over

and the moon embodies

all the hope the world has left.

Morning seems hopeful,

reminding me of morning after morning

of waking to talk to you,

and wishing it had been waking up next to you instead.

You are never more beautiful than when you are asleep.

This morning the sun,

my dear old friend who never changes

no matter how much older she or I get to be,

reminds me of every reason I fell

and still remain

in love with you.

She acknowledges my sanity.

She tells me I am right,

and that it wasn’t

and isn’t

a mistake

to feel and want and believe in things

and dreams

and You.

Sunshine heals me.

Physically,

emotionally,

mentally.

There is shelter in this morning that I

have been craving

now for weeks.

I am content knowing that,

like the sun,

what has grown in me from a seed you planted

is actually

reliable,

true,

permanent.

This gives me great comfort,

because time is nothing more

than a faithful steed taking me on my journey

when a thing becomes as reliable

as the comfort of the sun.