clouds on clouds
you woke this morning rested for the first time in weeks. the kind of rest where your body aches and your face is heavy, but only for the first few moments. you greet the cat, splash water on your face and open the doors - the fatigue leaves you.
the world is alive as you drink black coffee in the backyard. the air wet and light and cool. birds chirp from blocks away, from the neighbor’s fig. low clouds migrate like upside-down buffalo on white-gray firmament.
two magpies dance silently in the air together, just above your head.
you’ve had an addiction. one you kind of knew you had, but refused to listen to. last night, it broke suddenly. no withdrawals, no sense of loss. you just stopped.
when you’re in the grip of an addiction, it’s hard to focus outside of that, even though you know you must. for you, you barely functioned. paying minimum attention to relationships, work, your cat.
it wasn’t until someone called you out on it yesterday. there were moments, lasting only heartbeats, where you felt chastisement, embarrassment, anger.
then, simply - freedom.
the way you fell asleep easily last night, like a toddler in their mother’s arm, was not even a relief - it just felt right. your brain and heart unburdened.
this morning, you’ve written - you’ve been inspired to write. while your oatmeal was microwaving, you even picked up a book you’ve owned for years and not read. catch-22.
you’ve decided to walk to work, the first time in - weeks. the clouds are going that way, and you’ll be the one keeping them company.