Sunrise Stories.

I woke up with a jolt on one immensely treasured mid-February morning, but with a rather peculiar feeling, not to feel the morning come to life with action and light. The room was dark, and I could see nothing but the shadows of the curtains on the moon-lit walls. Since it was February, it was profoundly easier to get up from the bed after a deep sleep, since the cold didn’t capture the senses of my skin, caging it betwixt the rattling effects of goosebumps and the chills running down my spine. Spring was coming, and with it comfort and unobscured visions.

I was quite thrilled to wake up that morning and was astounded not to rise without the alarm I set the evening before. Heading to check what time it was, I realised it was 3 am, a bit too early. Confused, I opened the balcony and found the atmosphere totally invisible by a creeping fog; dense and saturated with vapour, engulfing the street and star lights.

A smile slowly slid on my face, feeling grateful for waking up so early. I wouldn’t have made it if I woke up with the alarm, it was going to be so difficult to drive in the streets and arrive on time. Hastily, with wide eyes and vibrant energy, I headed to the kitchen to prepare two coffee mugs; one of them supposedly mine, which I decided to save for later— for a special silent moment.

Driving through the fog was as arduous as it always was, but it didn’t matter. Everything was discreetly planned and organised, preventing me from rummaging the universe for reasons to worry. I smiled as I heard the music on the radio, conflicted with the dawn prayers, which usually triggered the break of dawn and colourisation of the realm— but not today, hence the land was cuddled by a cloud so close that it embraced us in its arms on its way to meet the ground.

I parked just a couple of metres near the entrance and made sure I had my shawl wrapped up round my neck to shield my body from the moisture infusing the chills to perpetuate within the layers of my skin. I walked with a spring in my step to a spot in front of the terminal, looking up to try and spot the airplanes I heard, but of course, I could not see a thing. I stood amidst the obscurity, feeling quite found rather than lost. Feeling prominent and discovered rather than doubtful and bemused. It occurred to me that sometimes it was okay not to really see what’s ahead of us, as long as we did our best to realise our present— and at that moment, I was fully caught up in the now; past and present swallowed by the fog in terms of steps backwards and forwards.

I thought of the favourite book I bought for you, lying on the bedside table, waiting to be read. The familiar and loved fragrance of candles lit every single evening; the scent of dried lavender and basil, that I kept diffusing even when you were gone— those little nothings that cause our hearts to rupture with joy.

But then, out of nowhere, I felt you stepping outside to the fog, my heart started to race its own pulse, beating and thrusting against my chest. As our eyes met, it felt like a soft touch on my cold skin, an embrace imposing an ignorance of the power of my senses because there was nothing that could come close to this: taking steps towards you, and you towards me, both gazing at each other, our heart beats causing us to glide on the ground, the way our fingers set our bags loose till they hit the floor, and then they find their home— lost through the intertwined maps as our hands lock, yet inscrutably found, at the same time. And oh, your skin speaks to me a thousand pictures and bursts of an infinite spectrum of colours.

It’s love, dearest. It’s love.

I find myself in your arms as if gravity was able to thrust my body into yours. I missed your presence all this time, but rather pretended not to admit it so truthfully. You’ve always been there, somehow, but then it was a different presence. I missed your peculiarities, the expressions you make on your face, the daydreams in your head and the time you spend just listening to the thoughts buzzing throughout your existence. Although these are rather intangible aspects of you, but they are as real as the smile stretching your lips to the horizons of rapture.

We walk to the car in complete silence, loud with promised laughter and moments to cherish. You sit in the passenger seat and I hand you your coffee mug, and we start sipping delicately, absorbing the charges in the air. You can translate the never-waning smile on my face, the one I usually am insecure about. I tried to speak, but it was of no use. It was perfect the way it was.

When we finally got home, the fog subsided and the sun appeared every so lightly, and that was okay. The fragrance of flowers greeted you, allowing your eyelids to droop and muscles to relax, and we jump to the bed after you’ve showered and made yourself comfortable. We didn’t draw the blinds and allowed the sunlight to soak the room, just as the sun started to rise. You rest your beautiful head on my shoulder and pick up the book you’ve been longing to read, to finally discover what poetry was after you had heard me rant about it for so long. I stroke your curly hair as I we lay in silence, taking pleasure in those fleeting seconds ticking by.

Eventually, I found out that you’ve put the book on your lap, presumably lost in another mysterious idea of yours but I was wrong; you’ve fallen asleep from a tiring flight and I couldn’t help but love you just a little bit more. After this, I planted a kiss on your forehead and left the sunlight to do the rest.

Then I thought, even the fogs will never defy the light of day.