Holding onto the Morning

Even then there were times when she seemed to hold the mornings in her hand as she slept, clutching them tight under the sheets, unwilling to let them escape out into freedom to create a new day around her.

She slept holding tight onto the sheets, keeping her mornings hidden away from those eyes she knew were watching her as she slept. Each one trying to find a way into her dreams to turn them into times of fear and dread. She knew all about the dark things that waited in the deepest, darkest parts of the night for her to let go. For her to leave a gap where they could worm their way in and rip all her bright butterfly dreams apart, leaving them torn and broken on her tear-wet pillow.

She knew about the darkness. She knew it would wait patiently. She knew she had to keep a tight grip on the tentative morning that could so easily slip out of her grasp and dissolve away into nothing, leaving her alone in the endless night. Waiting for those creatures that lurked, waiting, sharpening their teeth and their claws ready for when she let go of the morning.

They sent dark lovers to tempt her to let go of the sheets. To kick those sheets back to welcome the dark forms into her arms and between her open legs. Then wrapping herself around the darkness as it entered her, but she refused to even dream about the dark lovers. Instead, she preferred to run into some sun-dappled meadow with a new lover of the light, like her. One who would take her by the hand and lead her far away from the shadows to swim and wash away the darkness in some sun-rippled river.

Then, though, some new dark lover appeared. One who knew the secrets of the dark light she sometimes felt deep within her, calling to her. She knew he would be the one she could not resist should he reach out to take the morning from her easily-opening fingers.