It was a soft silence that pulled me close and asked me to not to break it. Sounds of a rustling comforter, a prodding of some pillows, the small breeze passing through the opening in my window. It’s been a long week, but a good one. One that felt slightly closer to where I want to to be then where I have been. It’s in these small considerations of the morning, the seemingly lazed drifting to and from sleep that really reveal how far I’ve come. It a good feeling, one that tells me that my body is working on something that’s worthwhile.
It’s a different type of tired, a soreness, one that comes from moving instead of the lack of staying still. My injury have taken time and patience and now I have come to a point where my body can finally make up for the period spent lying still in chairs and beds. A semblance of what is on the other side of the road I failed to cross on that fateful night.
It’s a rush of things, a movement within myself trying to reach out and recalibrate my senses to the point where I can really see again. It’s a process of understanding that comes slow at first and then all at once. Like a flicking of switched in a large stations sending electricity throughout to power me on.
In this contemplative silence of the morning halfway between wakefulness and sleep I enjoy the day for all that it gives and hope that tomorrow’s adventure will be as good at yesterdays.