You know what I see when the morning light breaks?  I don’t see the grime on the streets.  There isn’t any pain that holds a candle to glow in the darkness.  Even the ache inside my regret.  There is such an emptiness that creates a void in my soul.  I’m not afraid of the beauty that can be found in the night.  My eyes are so blind, and often for that matter.  However, when the break of the morning casts there is a sense of sanity in the world.  Hope paralyzes so many people, well, false hope does.  But in the morning, it’s not the sun… it’s the mere moment of peace that transcends the reality in the buildings, the parks, the streets, the people.  It’s like a spirit overwhelms perception, and changes nature, if only for a moment.

 

During the day, the world wears hard.  It seems to be like watching someone waste away in a hospital bed.  You see the life slowly breathe out of them.  Life shouldn’t be something you are able to see disappear, fast or slow.  In the day, all you can see is the flaws.  Imperfect, wanting, desperately trapped. 

 

It’s in the eyes of a weathered face.  It’s also in the cracks on a sidewalk that no one travels.  The dark orange rust exposes the intentional decay.  That’s what bothers me so much.  Most of the destruction seems to be meant to be, and planned for.

 

But in the morning, I see the wisp of a smile on someone who is heartbroken. 

 

That’s what we’re supposed to see, isn’t it?  To see the hope in despair.  To see reclamation in the rubble of our lives.  It is way too easy to look at the face of suffering and give in to the concept at face value. 

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