If You Wait [If You Wait For The Morning]
I take a shower. Wash away every trace of yesterday. Of smells. Of weary skin. I get dressed. I make coffee, throw the windows open, let the sun shine through. I hold the cup with two hands and I notice that I can feel the warmth. I still feel warmth.
Now I sit down and get to work. I keep my mind sharp, head on, eyes on the screen and if small thoughts of doubt fight their ways into my consciousness: I push them back and keep my eyes on the screen. Noticing nothing but the task in front of me.
I get off my chair in the middle of the day. I put on my shoes and take a long walk on open streets surrounded by strangers. I notice how they’re all walking, either in a hurry, or slowly. Smiling, laughing, or eyes straight forward, stepping forward to get to wherever they’re going. And I notice how I’m just one of them. I find comfort in the way I’m just like them.
I go back home. I take the long way. I kick off my shoes. I wash my hands. My face. I notice the silence. I notice my heart. It’s still beating. Still fighting. Now I get back to work.
I work with my mind sharp and eyes focused and if any thoughts of fears or melancholy creep into my mind, I shake them off. I focus. Keep it sharp on track, nothing but the task in front of me.
I work until my eyes are tired and head is heavy, and keep working even long after that.
Then I take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Dim the lights. Lie down and close my eyes. I notice the silence. I notice my heart. Still beating. Still fighting.
I made it, after all. I made it, another day. And I can make it one more. Again and again. I will be fine. I’m doing fine.
“I’m doing just fine, thanks.”
Madison