Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Ghost Morning

Sometimes in the wee early morning hours of a day before the sun has crept over the edge of the world, I pad softly down the hallway to the sliding glass door in the kitchen to peek outside to see the world stuck between darkness and light. It makes me feel like a ghost standing on the edge of the world. There are other ghosts all around me at that moment, all those who have taught me lessons in ways they do not know and those ghosts and their lessons live within me. I find myself straining to see those people, alive and dead, who stand before me, who have no idea what they have meant to me. The hurt and sadness and laughter and love and frustration and a million other human emotions I do not have time to name here have come from those ghosts hanging around me in the early morning air.  They are in my head and my heart and some are even intricately interwoven into my soul. My hair is matted and funny from sleep, I scratch my arm a funny papery sound in the still air. I am wearing faded blue polar bear pajamas and a ratty shirt from some event I never attended. I press my nose to the cool glass of the window and wonder if I have made an impact on others lives like they have made on mine. I wonder if somewhere else in this world someone is pressing their nose against the glass in the world caught between daylight and nighttime thinking about their ghosts.  Their moments. Their lives. I hope so. For good or bad, I hope so. I close my eyes and breath in those memories: exhale the bad, inhale the good. I turn on my heel and quietly steal back to my room, to our warm bed, past the shadows that are already fading away in the morning sunshine.
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