I feel like I’ve spent a majority of my life waiting. Running, with no promise of an end in sight. Watching, though no light at the end of the tunnel. Waiting, while I get smaller and smaller, drowning into oblivion.
So this explains how, while waiting for an Uber to pick me up at an ungodly 4am hour, staying still is not my strong suit. I was tired, but fidgeting, anxious then pensive, casually switching every few minutes. In a moment’s notice, i made some herbal tea and proceeded to wipe down the kitchen counters.
4:30am is a moody grey, with skies devoid of any real color. The marigold leaves on the ground can hardly be seen at that hour. I am the only one outside, and despite my dismal view into the empty road, I can hear the idling engine of a car that sounds a few yards away, overworked and begging for rest. 4am doesn’t care what weather related disorder you have or how dark it is outside. It is, afterall, 4am. All will be forgotten when the sun rises.
Fast forward several hours later, and I am at my parents’ home. I’m focusing on the late Saturday morning, curled up in my bedroom floor with iced coffee, and soaking in the light streaming in from all three windows. It’s quiet and calm here, an acoustic rhythm strumming in the background. I am thoroughly appreciating the nothingness – I suppose this is what they mean to stay in the moment and relax. I could be the only person awake, or the only person writing about this moment. If right now is a color, it would be a golden peach glow with orange edges.