Pop quiz! Does the sun wake up to kiss our necks, pull tulips out of potholes, and make shadow friends; does it then set and go to bed, to bask in its warmth and let itself rest? 

Bonus question: Do you?

If you look long enough at anything, you see yourself in it - mirror, mother, mountain. My fickle body and the fiery star I dance around are one and the same. Speckled, self-deprived, awaiting a stately burnout. We both learned too young - the sun from the Big Bang and I through the growing pains - that there is no gentle way to become.

I, like the abyss, burst beyond safe seams, longing to be contained only to learn that I cannot make people vessels no matter how beloved. 

With each passing year, I know less and less; I know better and better. Every heartbeat must weigh heavy. Every hand-hold must let go. I can tell blessings apart from baggage, patience apart from uncertainty, boundlessness apart from spillage. I can tell good things apart from bad things that feel good. I can tell my friends (at least in a whisper): I’m sorry I’m not here for you but these days I’m barely here at all.

I am 20 now and somehow more child. I find myself crawling, wobbling, grappling with object permanence (is the joy still there? is the sun still up?). The world is less of a home and more of a sieve. The hours curdle often. You know that nook between awake and asleep where time turns to syrup and thoughts become too light to settle? I get lost there and worse still, I lose myself there - there's a difference - but sometimes... I get lucky. 
The nook stretches into a vast, green field. I hold life by its hand (even if it stings) and we frolic (even if our feet are out of sync). 

Oh, about the sun… here is the answer: Not really. Not always. Some days, the sun rises just to set. Some days, the sun wakes and sets just to be.

Some day, when the sun gives you your freckles, you may have to give her your sweater.

Because here is the promise.

If you look long enough at anything, you see yourself in it - hope, home, heaven.

Every joint moment, shared clementine and crossed path: two threads of celestial randomness twisting into knots, into loops that hook heavy in my chest but unravel the second I dare to touch it. When you need it the most, a strange hour comes around where the mundane turns lovely. Every blink an eyelash kiss, the passing car a wishing star, every tomorrow a cosmic hug. In a world where butterflies flit over time zones and moonlight paints your skin blue, the distance between here & there, and now & then, and you & me, is only as real as we make it to be.

When will life stop feeling like a mere interlude for this heartache?

Let the quiet moments take over. Cradle joy with both arms. Resist every itch to budge. Trust that time moves within you; it can only move without you if you're both afraid of being left behind.

Hum under your breath, until you can bear to sing into the sky: I’m alive I’M ALIVE! So I think I’ll be alright!


5am drabble ... thank you love you! if you enjoyed this you might like the world moves in waves (sorry sold out atm)