Here I am, with my cup of creamer with coffee added and my heated blanket on my brand new recliner watching CNN. I feel old. But I also feel like first thing in the morning is mine. It’s my chance to write, my chance to think in silence, and my chance to cry.
I am not afraid to cry in front of others and it seems like now a days I do that all of the time. However sometimes I just want to cry alone. I don’t want someone to hold me and tell me for the 3,000th time that everything is going to be okay. I just want to cry and get it all out.
The coffee helps. I love the warm feeling it gives. It’s almost like a hug. Maybe that’s why I don’t want anyone else to give me one. It’s in my favorite mug with bees on it. It’s yellow, because it’s my favorite color.
Why am I crying? Good Question. It’s 6:47am and I have no idea why I am crying. I just want to. There is something broken inside me, something I am not truly sure where or how it broke. It knew something maybe my brain hasn’t figured out yet. Or maybe my brain did know, and that was the only part of me it told.
Whatever the reason it has brought me here, every morning around 6am I am up, in my chair, and I think and I cry.
The sky is beautiful when it is about to rain.