Morning isn’t good to me, no matter how much I try. On paper, he’s such an idyllic partner. All the best magazines say that if I treat him right, he’ll treat me right. All the best people tell me stories about how he made their dreams come true.
But I’ve never seen his bright side.
I wake up before I need to, and spend a few vulnerable moments in his care. He overloads me, calling the light to my eyes, urging the birds to tell their loudest stories, telling the city that I am awake and it is okay to move the heaviest things there ever was.
Morning isn’t good to me. He hurts me, even when I try. I spend so much energy just working with him, balancing his power, that I have no time left for myself. My senses strain, my muscles ache, the world under my feet…
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