One of those days when you haven’t slept and the birds are singing, chirping a lovely tune but all you feel is dread. Yeah, it’s that kind of morning for me. This perpetual dread has clouded my days lately. This marrow deep dissatisfaction with life and the world around me.
This broken birdsong in the morning. This melodic poison coursing through me. Time is not a friend; it’s a sworn enemy. It’s slow when I want it to move along and too fast when I want it to break. Coast a little while. Give me time to gain my bearings.
Where do I belong in the world? If I’m not a writer, who am I?
Just another woman locked in a room in the corner of her mind. Searching for an exit but only finding blank walls. A typewriter gathering dust in an old case. A folder full of unfinished stories. Potential unfulfilled.
Such is life.
One response to “Bird Song in the Morning”
That is life for some of us, maybe many of us. Very well written.