Waking up. Getting up. Falling down. Staying down.
Still sleeping now.
Forgetting how to enjoy morning
now that my heart no longer rises
with the sun among the clouds.
I want to stop rhyming because it just brings back the times
when we both believed in a synchronized sunrise.
But now laying still on the cold concrete I am.
And still I believe eternity wasn't meant for me
if love isn’t waiting on my windowsill.
But ah, what’s this?
It’s not waiting by my window as it would seem.
Instead I notice a shadowy figure on this hard floor
that looks just like me.
I felt her skin touch my wounded hand, her own scars whispered,
and we both got up from the old cold floor
poured up some tea
and began to live our mornings for so much more;
For you and for me.