Sunday at sunrise

Do you sleep alone?

Do you prefer to wake up to yourself and your thoughts?

The morning might be your own: no one else to consider, no one else to appease. Maybe there's no one who wakes up worried and tells you. Maybe you can drink all the coffee. The hot water's yours. No one who's needing your touch and assurances--given generously like deep deep water--so deep. Unfathomable? Untiring, and continuing to flow freely despite the cold. How? There's no doubt--every rule I've ever learned about these things--everyone using logic and sense...we all know it should be frozen solid now, first slowing and catching as the cold penetrates and bites, then stopping. Stopping, freezing--now it could last. Its flow halted before it reaches the edge, the cliff...and then over. Down, falling, scattering into drops. The rush hits a wall--falls over the edge...the generous whole...broken! Beautiful as it drops--shattered, glistening, yet falling and falling. Why didn't it freeze? Stop to save itself the fall. Frozen until it's safe--frozen yet whole, together. Unmoving, but not broken. Certainly not giving up control. As ice, it doesn't have to fear the fall or worse--the end of the fall.

Maybe you don't.

Instead, she might return that generous touch, the unending assurances. Someone who won't bring the cold. No way is she letting it near you.