I always wake up in a strange way. Strange, if only for the reason I've never really heard of anyone waking up the way I do. I always open my eyes once and then close them immediately after. My hands wander over my covers, sheets, and pillows. I do this every morning without fail. Ocassionally they wander over my face and hair, as if to reassure myself that I am here and I am no longer dreaming.
I usually wake up with a word, phrase, or sentence on the tip of my tongue. I usually end up saying whatever it is to myself because no one else is there to hear it. I should record my first thought though. It'd be interesting to see if there is any pattern. More often than not they make no sense, and sometimes I don't believe I've ever heard of the words before.
"Darling, it's snowing" are the words I had on the tip of my tongue this morning, or rather afternoon, when I woke up.
It is not snowing though... as it is October, and this area rarely gets snow until January and February, and even then it usually isn't much. No one shares my bed, aside from a telephone that is capable of reaching someones, to call darling. It was not unusually cold in my room.
Maybe it was a trick of the light streaming through my windows and down the skylight onto me (It was cold white light that made each color in my room jump out at me in its starkness.) Maybe it was how much rest I had gotten or how at peace I had been while sleeping this time. (I always sleep better in the rain and snow, and my mind may have attributed my fitful sleep to this.) Maybe it was wishing to share that thought, memory, feeling with someone. (I do love to share those. It binds me closer to others. I've given them a slice of me to devour, be it thoughtfully and with care or teeth bared and viciously ripping the essence or what I have given apart.) Maybe it was the hope of something truly strange and freakish happening, but nonetheless beautiful. Nothing short of a miracle. Something truly deserving of my awe and wonder. Something I'd desperately want to share.
It doesn't matter. It is true despite all my bland, yet true observations.
Darling, it really is snowing.
I usually wake up with a word, phrase, or sentence on the tip of my tongue. I usually end up saying whatever it is to myself because no one else is there to hear it. I should record my first thought though. It'd be interesting to see if there is any pattern. More often than not they make no sense, and sometimes I don't believe I've ever heard of the words before.
"Darling, it's snowing" are the words I had on the tip of my tongue this morning, or rather afternoon, when I woke up.
It is not snowing though... as it is October, and this area rarely gets snow until January and February, and even then it usually isn't much. No one shares my bed, aside from a telephone that is capable of reaching someones, to call darling. It was not unusually cold in my room.
Maybe it was a trick of the light streaming through my windows and down the skylight onto me (It was cold white light that made each color in my room jump out at me in its starkness.) Maybe it was how much rest I had gotten or how at peace I had been while sleeping this time. (I always sleep better in the rain and snow, and my mind may have attributed my fitful sleep to this.) Maybe it was wishing to share that thought, memory, feeling with someone. (I do love to share those. It binds me closer to others. I've given them a slice of me to devour, be it thoughtfully and with care or teeth bared and viciously ripping the essence or what I have given apart.) Maybe it was the hope of something truly strange and freakish happening, but nonetheless beautiful. Nothing short of a miracle. Something truly deserving of my awe and wonder. Something I'd desperately want to share.
It doesn't matter. It is true despite all my bland, yet true observations.
Darling, it really is snowing.
