threads

it's in the morning when she feels the most secure. it's right before the sun takes its daily peek past the horizon. that's when she knows she's safe. under her covers and away from the world. it's when she feels the purest. it's when her sense of identity and love is at its strongest. her covers whisper words of assurance and the sunlight speaks nothing but wholeness over the pieces of her soul. there's something about mornings that she relished so much. could it be the consistency of the promise that these mornings will always come around? or maybe it could've been the freedom they ever so kindly blessed her with. regardless, they made her feel infinite. as if her soul could fly away and perch itself on the maple tree branches just around the corner of her street. these mornings gave her the chance to taste freedom with the tip of her tongue before the world reeled her back into its forceful grip. these mornings gave her hope. hope that there are moments and interstices that are filled to the brim with nothing but liberty. hope that she is still human. these mornings assure her of her sanity. they keep her in tact. they keep her safe. these mornings are her refuge.