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Before the world is awake my mind is still. Each chilled breath is felt from my lips to my lungs. My bare feet press gently into the cool wooden floor as I silently move — I don’t want to wake her.
I can feel the shallow grooves in every board as I make my way toward a strategically placed project. It will take patience, but it’s worth the wait. My coffee tastes a bit more sweet; a bit more smooth. Soon, it won’t taste the same.
I’m groggy, but fully awake. I am still sleepy, but I’m fully aware.
I feel every bit of the soft scratch of the pen as it glides across the newly turned page. The deep parts of me pour out through my fingertips. The flickering candle gives just enough light.
Before the world is awake, your Word echo’s. Soon, it will be hidden in the noise.
Before the world is awake I find who I was made to be — but in a moment, he will be lost.
Before the world is awake, what else do I have to do but be with you? No expectations, no rush — just us.
Before the world is awake I am molded into something new — restored and prepared.
When the sun rises, the noise begins and I fall in line; just another part of the frantic movement and peculiar expectations.
The world will wake up soon, so I can’t stay here — but today, can I bring you with me? I want them to know what it’s like before the world is awake.
