Memories of Mourning

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Our eyes are once again forced open by the sound of a beeping alarm. Morning has stolen our precious sleep. To some, morning is exhilarating as it represents a new beginning and a hot cup of coffee followed by the hope of a returning sun slowly, and then all at once appearing over the horizon. The air is crisp, fresh, invigorating as it is slowly inhaled into the lungs. The grass is covered with the diamond like sparkle of fresh dew. However, this is not all people. Some hear the blaring alarm much earlier than others. It reminds them that another long and tiring day is ahead. Maybe they have a rigorous job with low wages and no extra money for a cup of steaming hot coffee, or perhaps they have the burden of choosing sides in a family split by divorce with no yard to see the glittering dew. Maybe the sun can’t be seen for the tall buildings and the fresh air tainted with the smell of car exhaust. There are an endless list of reasons as to why one would not be fond of morning, but my reason is very different from these as I have plenty of coffee, so much I could never possibly drink it all. My yard stretches for acres with the greenest, thickest grass in my neighborhood. The bright sun consistently rises over the stretching horizon and can be seen through the small cracks in my blinds from the upstairs bedroom window. The air here more fresh from the gentle water-top breeze than one could dare to imagine. But if you were to ask why I don’t like morning, I would simply tell you this—
The sunrise means I woke up.
I am alive,
still. 

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