I open my eyes in darkness–a brand new day, beckoned in by the whirls of my iPad alarm and welcomed by the steadfast, confident swinging from the warm covers to the cool tendrils of the turquoise shag rug below.
Mornings spent in peace and tranquility only felt under the careful watch of the moon–this is my dream, my creed upon shuffling about before sitting down on the rug.
I read. I pray. I think. Craving silence before the noise crashes in on me.
Mornings spent in quiet reflection–and maybe a quick, extra 5-minute snooze. Cool rug below and warm blanket above. Cocooned. Safe. Beloved.
Reflection morphs into stretching the muscles and joints that guide my reflexes. Child’s pose, downward dog, cobra, eagle, cat and cow–channeling the innocence of nature before this day gives me experience.
I bathe the innocent mind and stretched body–dampen, lather, rinse, repeat. Sing a little tune, the percussion of a waterfall forming the solid backbeat, backbone.
Needing to sing, filled with music and words, I surrender them to the walls of the shower. They bounce back, and I am left standing naked, caught up in the echo, the crescendo of thoughts so submerged in my heart I thought they had drowned. But now they rise above the waterfall soaking every inch of my body.
I watch the sun rise through my window, warm rays illuminating the lens through which I see my little, beautiful corner of the world.
I listen to rants and funny stories and insecurities and random questions. I rant, tell funny stories, confess insecurities and ask random questions. Friends asking, searching, wanting answers to life that we are searching for together.
I stare at the cloudless blue sky, masking in its glory, not wanting to leave this moment. Wondering if my stresses and thoughts and fears for that day can just get lost like the clouds in that endless blue inverted sea.
I gaze at the stars, wondering if my soulmate is gazing admirably at them, as well. I wonder if he’ll ever gaze at me that way, if he’ll ever hug me close like the velvet darkness wraps around the warm liquid of the stars.
Wanting love is a desire I’ll never stop having.
Anxiety hounds me on days when my thoughts ramble on with no outlet–people need me and say my name–it has never sounded so beautiful yet so ugly–I want to sink into oblivion once my earthquake arm stops trembling from friction overload–I want to scream–but will anyone hear my anxiety?
I think all they hear, all they claim: “Kaylee.”
Sometimes I let these days get the best of me.
Sometimes I let it slide off me like rain droplets on a car window–the ones I would watch as a kid to see which droplet made it to the edge of the window first.
Avid YouTube lifestyle channel watcher, I seek peace and order among the chaotic days of my life.
Ugly crier, words choke and die on tears that won’t stop running for a good 30 minutes (which is more running than I will ever aspire to do in a lifetime).
Unforgiving planner, dividing my life into set schedules and systems–I berate myself when something falls through the cracks, though I am learning to let go of those things I cannot control.
Mediator, I always find myself in the middle of things, the middle of people. Surrounded, yet so alone.
I realize the distractions in my life and how they are merely poor substitutes to fill up time, fill up space in me that is so empty–so I loosen, let go. Anything with a blue-light screen–I let it go dark for days at a time. So the dark noise surrounding me, in me, can find the light of peace, tranquility, calm, serene.
I listen to those old-time blues and swings and beats. I fly to the moon with Frank Sinatra, dream a little dream with Doris Day, say it’s only a paper moon with Nat King Cole, feel the tension between release and frustration when I’m bewitched and bothered and bewildered like Ella Fitzgerald. Songs antique like record players, songs that place me in peaceful, good vibes when I’m in bad times.
Craving sweets, I eat one-too-many Ghirardelli chocolate chips. Sometimes I gently, lovingly place one on top of a peanut butter-laden Ritz cracker. I welcome it into me, follow it with a sip of milk so it won’t be so lonely in my belly.
I envy that one friend who is prettier than me, doesn’t have to worry about her figure like me, can wear anything she wants and have it look perfect on her unlike me, can do nothing without being aided, escorted, or supervised unlike me.
I cringe at the grating of the voice recording on my ears, and I wonder why no one ever told me I sound like that. I wonder if I should take away my own voice–a sacrificing Ariel with no Eric.
I shut down when my brain won’t shut up. I hear someone say to not overthink, that it’s all in my head, but that’s the problem. And yet I don’t say anything. Don’t encourage ignorance, don’t encourage the one lucky enough to not be so in his head that it’s both his best friend and his worst enemy.
I fluctuate between seasons, moods, stages–
–for I am human.
And that’s a beautiful thing.