Mornings

Naked morning light sweeps across my eyelids, pressing my conscience to ignite. I open my eyes and gaze across the room through half shut curtains at the pale sky beyond. Small pockets of the outside blue are exposed, but the horizon remains black and still. I grab my phone from the drawer beside my bed. 6:32AM. Battery 61%. No messages. No missed calls. I close my eyes again and sink beneath the sheets, pushing my pillow as if to another my thoughts. I lay there for atleast 10 minutes, grappling with my mind until we both agree it’s time to rise. I run the shower and let the warmth soothe my body. I brush my teeth as I search for my reflection through the mirrored haze. I urge soft wax through my hair and push it back until it’s nearly patterned. I rub a hand under my jaw, but don’t bother shaving. I zip up into jeans and grey shirt and make my way to the kitchen with intentions of reheated soup and leftover garlic bread that rendered smoke as I catch the time on the oven display. I grab my keys and shrink into my parka, closing the door. A thin sheet of dust has formed across  the windshield but I don’t have time. I jump in and turn the key. 8:47 AM. I hate mornings. 

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