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My Early Sunday Morning

I generally woke up very late in morning but on that Sunday morning, I woke up early. The birds were open in conversation, balanced on the leafless tree outside ma bedroom window. The sky gently roared with a far-off flight.

It was the kind of premature which I usually observe as being late. With insomnia, if I'm lucky, This morning I found myself confused, surprised, to be waking up the other side of it and without prompting, no less. It felt as if I'd opened someone else's mail without reading the name of sender first. It's all too easily done, idly, but once you realize, it feels a bit wrong.

Curtains open, the room filled with a muted light. The day was young and the air fresh to ma musty lungs. I'd never seen so much potential in a cloudless sky, or a sun that broke orange through the trees leaves at garden's end. I felt endless and energetic, as if ma feet had springs.

And so, as I embark on a day filled with promise and commitments, with a mind sharp and clear for the first time in months, I wonder. To go to bed as the sky turns black, sleep the night through and wake before the sun; is this what it feels like to be normal?

I wonder...