Dear Early Morning Freshness,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear early morning freshness

That sweeps past me as I rush to class,

Trying to slow time,

But it never ceases to pass.

It’s some comfort to know I won’t be the last,

Just one of many

Always in a hurry

Living a life that only grows more fleeting and fast.

 

I do so enjoy when you visit my dreams,

Mind you, not when you break them up

By their delicate faerie-winged seams.

 

Oh, early morning freshness

That I never greet as an equal,

Why do I feel better and more myself when you leave?

When in the day can I just watch you be?

 

But, enough of silly questions

When the answers are in your name.

Your failing to greet me

Will no longer bring me shame.

You see, holidays are a wonderful thing

Even if they’re meant for studying.

 

Goodbye, early morning freshness,

I’ve found another oxymoron.

 

Hello, study holidays,

Let’s have some fun.

 

Signed,

Grumpy-morning-faced Anna

Secrets

shh

Shh

 

 

[This ought to be read with an occasional Dr. Seuss-y lilt]

 

 

 

Guilty confessions can be such fun. Consider this mine, though it’s partly about yours:

I may not agree with your sense of guilt, real or put-on, but I definitely approve you telling me. I listen a lot more closely when you say “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” Don’t worry, I won’t. At least, it won’t be followed by your name.

What is it that draws me to tales of conflict? Betrayal, jealousy….it all seems fair game.

Why do I enjoy you telling me why you wouldn’t go to your friend’s wedding? I don’t object when her history follows. I don’t know her, have never met her, but about her, have now gathered snippets of information.

How do I still consider myself a compassionate human being with such convoluted investments in conversation?

Can I justifiably explain a heart that jumps a little for joy when you want to share woeful stories of your complicated relationship?

Wait, when did you have a tattoo?

Drama excites me, more than I care to admit. If I could, I’d reserve a spot in the sidelines, with a tantalising view. That way, it’s a comfortable distance- I don’t feel alone in my guilt, yet not too much like the central audience. I find it hard to believe I’m the only one with squirrel-like attention. But, that’s only because I know I’m not. Things take a gratifying turn when we discover the nuts.

Strangely enough, I prefer reality or television, never together(what an unholy mixture). But, who’s to state the difference between the two? Especially when I say TV is my life.

I know, you don’t think it’s fair. I’m terribly guarded with secrets of mine, and if you know me at all, nearly everything’s a secret. It’s only out of a deep-rooted fear that you’ll judge me as harshly as I judge you and possibly worse. You have no way of knowing, but I’m privately paranoid and have it all worked out- who should know what and just how much. Let me show you why you don’t necessarily have the harder job.

(Me worrying about you wondering about me)= (You wondering about me) times infinity

 

I think the scale balances out in the end.

 

Signed,

A Good Listener 😉