Sunrise Stories.

Sometimes it’s formidable to know the difference between dreams and what’s real, sometimes you wake up wishing that what had happened the day before was only a nightmare; a darkened hole in which time escaped and took us down with it. Yet, we still wake, with our hearts heavy, chests stoned with heaves locked and anxieties bustling the silence of what we cannot hear.

Because last night was rough; my head was full of erratic thoughts and fears— being solemnly scared that I would never solve the heap of troubles brought to my table, because it was too much. Too much for the conflict in my mind to balance out reality and what’s unearthly— and I keep promising to remain as hopeful and natural as ever, never allowing for negativity to precipitate and accumulate within, never allowing it to define me.

But on nights like those, it’s a step way from giving in. Closing the doors of bliss, irrational affirmations come sweeping down the trees swaying in my mind telling me: isn’t life difficult? isn’t humanity made to suffer? don’t we exist to live in pain?

I choose to sleep in, wishing you a good night quietly, turning my head the other side and closing my eyes so firmly to squeeze out the tears so heavy and darkened with rust and weight not made for organisms to bear. I try to cry the night away but cannot and find myself lost in a sleep wistful and meaningless; one that doesn’t help to cure and heal the inner exhaustion.

I wake up with a jolt, wishing that those worries would magically disappear and I’d be able to get out of bed and sprint to the balcony to see the sun rise on a such beautiful day— but I cannot. The anxiety is pinning me down in my place, bombarding me with realities I don’t have to face.

But then there is you— unaware of what I’m going through, or perhaps intuitive enough to catch a glimpse of it. I decide not to tell you for they are only insecurities, just fears jostling haphazardly in that overactive brain of mine. I take a deep breath in, and exhale ever so slowly, watching those grey colossal clouds pass with the gusts of wind blown by the forces of gratitude and positivity and perhaps believe I can choose to be empowered.

My chest is still heavy and I remain rather feelingless, unable to acknowledge the way the sunlight started to diffuse into the room. You wake up near me, and I feel your fingers finding their way in mine, like they always do each morning, rather unconsciously. We find safety in each other’s touch— a recognition that we are still alive, still able to sense things beyond our own skin, translated in quickened heartbeats and thrills unable to be tamed.

I smile and wait for you to open your eyes and direct them towards mine. I always find myself looking down as you do so, because I’m too shy. Slowly, the chains in my chest start to unwind, sliding off my lungs and I could breathe more freely— more unconsciously. I whisper to you good morning, and you do, too, in your crooked sleepy voice and beautiful eyes.

Then I know, how fickle and fragile fear is and how temporary and stupefying it can be. However, it always finds its ways to convince me that it’s real when soon enough, my mind unravels ways to solve those problems one by one, and everything changes to become so tolerable again.

I close my eyes for a split of a second, knowing that it’s to be alright, knowing that I’ve found the answers long before any of this. With this fact, I wrap myself around you bravely, embracing the love and forgiveness I hold for myself. Your arms are the only proof that I could actually feel love so realistically and physically, in bounds beyond comforting mindsets and affirmations.

I’m inwardly protected by your ethereal presence.