From the shadows gathered in icy puddles in the corners of rooms, fatigued fingers massage my temples and leave nothing but bruises.
It is evening, when these shadows seep from the corners to hold me in their quiet embrace.
It is evening when they pull the adrenaline from my screaming veins and leave me with only the silent murmur of ghosts pressed into the walls for company.
Ghosts that have raced passed me these twenty three years and left the imprints of their howling faces, at eye-level, pressed into these walls.
Their grimaces are distorted, they were racing by too fast, they didn't see the walls.
And then my heavy eyelids fall upon my cheeks and the ghosts sigh as they are forgotten to dreams of which essay I must write tommorrow, which project needs work. My curls blend with the pillow and I forget.
In the morning, a cloudless sky seeps it's light through silk curtains, bathing me in warm red glow.
In the morning I stretch, my bones no longer the fine silt that crowds at my feet making movement impossible.
In the morning I am whole again with a thousand accomplishments ahead of me, and yesterday's completed tasks spurring me on.
In the morning the tired tendrils crawl back to their shadows to wait for me tonight.
In the morning, I smile. In the afternoon, I smile. In the evening, my bones again hollow and tired, I smile ghostly smiles.
I am too tired to spur myself on with the nobility of my quests. In the evening, there is nothing noble about this race.
But the evening grows tired itself, and relinquishes my trembling hands and lets me sleep.
It is morning.
My back is warm and my aches are gone and I can only think of you, and of the worlds that I will raze today.
It is morning, and I am in love with the world.
It is morning, and I look forward to my conquests.
It is morning, and I have my strength, and nothing can hurt me.
I am strong.
And I haven't even had my coffee yet.
So are you a morning person? I used to look forward to the quiet onrush of night, but by the time it gets here these days, I'm exhausted.
Maybe that's where the melancholy comes from. So easy to harp on the pains even when there's so much more warmth that's happened during the day.
But midterm week is over this weekend, and in 8 weeks...
I'll be howling at the moon again.
I promise. Thanks for sticking by me.
How about you?