Sunrise Stories.

I wake up next to you, like I always do, and this chilly, brisk April morning is forcing me to bring the blanket closer to my skin, to feel warm and safe somehow.

And this morning, I do really want to smile and show you the beauty rising before us this very instant, yet suddenly, my power fades and falters, like vapours rising from a forceful, gushing ocean. The glimmer wakening in my heart fails to ignite, so I wrap myself around the covers more gently, spending a few minutes lost in thought.

Dearest, I love you. It’s a faith I want to scream out loud in graceful melodies. But some days, I’m a little bit unsure, a little bit unsafe to speak how I truly feel; for it’s often guilt and shame that encompasses every idea that runs through my head, when the notion is darkened with loathe and contempt. Deep down I know I am grateful, and there is this shower of mindfulness soaking me inwardly. But days like today, I can’t quite recognise it. I can’t project this beautiful, flowery picture into my head so vividly.

And you open your eyes for the first time that day and gaze into mine. A part of me wants to whisper good morning to you, as usual, yet I avert my gaze. I look down and around, rummaging for distractions, away from the boundless river of love and appreciation streaming towards me. It’s as if my soul has become a dam and it’s keeping this heartfelt love outside. It’s pushing it away— because I feel quite undeserving, quite not ready to receive— so it fills me with shame and guilt because at the very same time, I still want to love you wholly.

But you understand. You seem to always glimpse that raging war within me and allow me to be. You understand that I’m still grateful, still confident and whole yet there are times when I need this space to be somehow broken and lost, fallen into this vacant space of exploration and discovery. Still though, as our beloved sunbeams pierce through the curtains and illuminate our room, you pull me in close, despite my insecurities and doubts. Every cell of my body is screaming to let go, to feel hate and shame rather than peace and mindfulness. Every cell of my body wants to release.

But I let go.

I’m encompassed by the warmth of your arms and I close my eyes, my heart beating while it surrenders to the soft currents of your peaceful river. I gently open my eyes and we silently communicate the fears I never have the courage to talk about, or even have the ability to articulate and verbalise.

Soon enough, after some of that fight is gone, I am able to breathe more gracefully and less restlessly. My body feels like a home and I’m safe in it once more though I’ve lived a long time feeling as if I was a foreigner, a stranger— an intruder. I grew up to despise myself and to somehow believe what others proclaimed; their judgements and criticisms. Do not worry, dearest. I am not afraid. Perhaps I am just regularly fighting what surfaces up from the ashes of the security and love that had been burned from a long time ago. It’s a process— I do hope you understand.

This time, you smile into my eyes and I thank you. I thank you for the roses you have planted in my lungs for they are infinitely beautiful, but it gets hard to breathe sometimes, to accept all this love you’re giving so freely. It makes me want to plant you sunflowers in return, but you’ve taught me that we are the ones solely responsible for planting our own seeds.

And I’ve become a gardener in this vivid, morning-light dream.