I never know exactly when its demanding hint of colors will hit, but it is louder and more definite than anything I have ever known to resist. It can break my heart open and unhinge the restraints of time. It can get me pulled over and running toward its safety every time.
And every time– I can’t even. I can’t even take in the beauty of its colors on the water, nor its uncandid reflection back into itself. I can’t begin to understand how something so incredibly complicated can feel so desperately simple.
And then I can’t even-
believe that I am 43 years old.
I can’t believe that I live the life that I do.
I can’t fathom the fact that people around me are dwindling in age or within joy.
I can’t accept what he just said or what she just did.
(and quite honestly, I can’t appreciate what I just said or what I just did)
I can’t put rest to the sadness of losing of an uncle; the loneliness for a best friend is even worse.
The can’t-even canter of this conversation is (insert life).
But it (the sunrise) helps me. It gets me back to loving something that will be steady and ready enough to welcome me back into its every day.
Its equally stunning counterpart will lay my head down peacefully, no matter all the things I could not even.