As the moon descends into her kingdom to open up the sky for the sun’s graceful arrival,

His eyes start to fall…

Heavier,
and
Heavier,

As if the morning light he saw was too heavy for his eyelids to process, or even want to.

His body sinks into the soft, cushioned fabric of the couch that wraps an addictingly comfortable warmth around him,

Whispering promises of a slumber so much needed he doesn’t want to fight the exhausted spell he suddenly seems to be cast under.

The world was stretching and yawning around him;
Birds chirping and tweeting good morning melodies,
Raspy engines coughed themselves awake as dedicated souls forced themselves into loathed work clothes & uniforms.
Even the wind was knocking on the glass of the window, howling greetings.

But he gave none,
For his bones felt old and heavy,
And it called upon too much effort to find his voice.

After spending the night giggling and laughing until his stomach churned;
Dancing until his muscles and bones squealed with protest;
Singing like he’d never sang before…

Well, wouldn’t you stay up all night with the moon if she asked?

He was too exhausted to greet the morning sky or relish in the warmth of the light,
But he felt


Alive.


As he sank deeper into the tunnel of sleep, his consciousness ebbing in and out like water,

He felt as though his spirit had finally woken up from somewhere hidden deep within.