Beautiful
I woke up around 4:30AM. I lay tangled in my blankets for a while, illuminated by the glow of my computer screen, as my mind rapidly flickered into wakefulness. I buried my face in my still-warm pillow and tried to return to sleep, but it wasn't happening. So, I flicked my lamp on and wrapped up in a blanket as my coffee bubbled and brewed, flooding the room and my senses with its sharp acidic smell. Nearly 5AM, and I was awake, body and mind purring into a faintly groggy sort of alertness, body vaguely protesting, despite its own unwillingness to sleep. The coffee was hot and strong, burning through my system, the bag of mixed fruit sharp and tart on my tongue.
Morning--it was still night, for God's sake. Frikki had, as always, messaged me while I slept, a flash of sweetness to wake up to, sweeter and warmer than my coffee. Talking to him is like kissing and nuzzling the sun. Erica and Lara returned from sitting the 12-5 shift, and I zipped about with caffeine, bouncing and squeaking to put on clothes and my big fluffy jacket, so we could melt into the star-studded icy night, zooming along the silent interstate to the bright beckoning warmth of Waffle House. Breakfast and coffee, cheap and good and hot. Lara sitting across from me, blonde hair spilling out sunny and bright from beneath her hat, Erica laughing. She's beautiful when she laughs, and a part of me remembered why I liked her in the first place.
The moon was a shimmering crescent, Venus winking like a diamond beside it. The sky was turning indigo, that deep velvety blue, with a shimmering silver lighting up the clouds on the horizon. Dawn was coming--
The light flickering through the cracks in the blinds in my peripheral vision is silvery, gentle. The air outside is still so damn cold--
God, it's beautiful. So damn beautiful.
I have two exams to take today, and then, to be perfectly honest, I intend to drink like an Irish poet tonight. I have nothing tomorrow, and nothing Friday, save a doctor's appointment. Nothing till Tuesday. This ought to be good.
Morning--it was still night, for God's sake. Frikki had, as always, messaged me while I slept, a flash of sweetness to wake up to, sweeter and warmer than my coffee. Talking to him is like kissing and nuzzling the sun. Erica and Lara returned from sitting the 12-5 shift, and I zipped about with caffeine, bouncing and squeaking to put on clothes and my big fluffy jacket, so we could melt into the star-studded icy night, zooming along the silent interstate to the bright beckoning warmth of Waffle House. Breakfast and coffee, cheap and good and hot. Lara sitting across from me, blonde hair spilling out sunny and bright from beneath her hat, Erica laughing. She's beautiful when she laughs, and a part of me remembered why I liked her in the first place.
The moon was a shimmering crescent, Venus winking like a diamond beside it. The sky was turning indigo, that deep velvety blue, with a shimmering silver lighting up the clouds on the horizon. Dawn was coming--
The light flickering through the cracks in the blinds in my peripheral vision is silvery, gentle. The air outside is still so damn cold--
God, it's beautiful. So damn beautiful.
I have two exams to take today, and then, to be perfectly honest, I intend to drink like an Irish poet tonight. I have nothing tomorrow, and nothing Friday, save a doctor's appointment. Nothing till Tuesday. This ought to be good.