“Make me a day, make me whole again.”

The first few minutes of morning are usually my favorite. I like the quiet. I like the light. I usually leave the curtains open a little so I can let the sun greet me, waking me up with beams and shadows. But mostly I like how those first few moments of consciousness are the clearest of the day. They’re still pure. They haven’t been flooded — ruined — by reality yet.

This morning finds tears falling before my head leaves the pillow, finds me seemingly paralyzed beyond collapsing on the floor. Being OK is not an option. I cannot seem to find a new song sad enough, so I listen to the saddest songs I know I can find and make some coffee and practice my arabesque, because what else is there to do. To keep moving is to keep from breaking. We’re long past those first few minutes of morning now.