the morning after

The hardest mornings are those following a beautiful dream where everything is exactly as you wish it only to open your eyes and realise it was just a dream. You silently curse at your subconscious for poking around in your thoughts cabinet. You might even feel stupid for enjoying the un reality; for the sheepish grin on your face in those seconds before it dawns on you that it was only a dream. Everything feels like a mockery now- especially the singing birds and morning sun. “What have they to be happy about? Can’t they see you’re suffering?” You want to shout. Its one of those mornings. The ones that follow the blissful night’s escape from harsh reality. You saw your dreams, touched them… only to have them ripped away by over-zealous little miss sunshine and all her shining rays. Angry, mostly at yourself for hoping, you close the blinds and climb back into your bed certain you can’t make it through the day. Sadness is holding on with two hands -pulling with everything its got. You’re tempted to give in. Sometimes it feels good to curl up in bed and be miserable. But its only allowed SOMETIMES. Today isn’t ‘sometimes’. You remember all the times you felt like you couldn’t get through and you laugh as you reach for your morning coffee and realise that its going to be a good day.

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