liquid sunrise

I had this big window in my room when I was little where I liked to watch the sun set after finishing my homework. And as the seasons changed those sunsets changed and I think I began to change with them. The navy of winter gave way to crimson in spring, and with it came the year my heart was broken. And when spring became summer the sun set a little later so eventually I set a little later. Homework turned to broken curfew and nighttime only brought nostalgia and hunger and urgency. So when daylight gave me distaste in the fall of the following year I fell back into the rhythm of the suns goodbye. Watching out my window became watching from some strangers bed; and rather than falling in love when the sky permitted that childlike yellow and those sorrow-less reds, I fell apart. That was the year I found God. But God had a funny way of ignoring my midnight plea’s so I changed a little more. I found comfort in the wrong set of arms and solace in the pain-prescriptions. I discovered Jesus with your hands around my neck and felt reality in the weight of my own heart. My window stayed locked and often my homework undone; so when the sky began to suffocate and I flunked out of school I blamed the changing seasons. I’d never asked to fall in love with the tragedy of it all. Never wanted night to become my best friend and most viscous enemy. Never prayed for summer to end or spring to move on, or the sun to steal my innocence. These were the years I let go. These were the years I found myself. Carved and refined and worked on my rock until I became a David of modern day. These were the lessons. The years that changed my life.

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