A Love Letter to Dawn

Dearest dawn:

It's so nice to see you, you look lovely today. Sleep eluded me a night once more, and frustration began to dig its claws in around 3 A.M. – thank you for coming around to rescue me. It's interesting: the foolish often make remarks of how troubling it is to still be wide awake upon your welcome. And I guess I can understand the disillusionment that comes along with knowing you're not waking with the sun like the rest of the world. But they are fools for not realizing how beautiful it actually is – how beautiful you actually are.

Here I am, lying in the same sheets your faint breath of light is breathing against. So delicately reflecting against the edges, crawling strategically around the shadows the night wishes to keep to itself. And if my wide, sleep-deprived eyes were to take a glance, I'd see that I'm not resting atop bedsheets – I'm lying upon mountains. The sun is still waking up herself, but she had already given my bed enough light to look as majestic as hilltops, with peaks and curves only my body could have made as I rolled around in bed, foolishly trying to sleep and miss this moment. 

And you don't have to say a thing. It's beautiful knowing I'm surrounded by your pure and peaceful silence. If it were to be this quiet around noon or maybe sometime around dusk, people may be frightened or worried because silence drags along this negative implication of being the absence of productivity. But it's not. It's so wonderful when it sneaks out from under the covers and is no longer blanketed by these dispositions. When the world around you is still asleep and resting its sea of tired minds, your own gets to lay and be caressed by this sweet and muted stillness than can only be heard at such early hours of the morning. 

Somewhere soon the sun will take her stage and present to the world her majesty as she somehow melts back into our presence. She'll coordinate the colors in the sky to mirror the mood she's in and she'll quietly open up the eyes of the billions of souls waiting to be woken. But this letter is not for her, and she is still getting dressed. So stay. Because I'd like to spend a bit more time with you.



Have you ever stayed awake until 5:30 in the morning? Did you pay attention to what you were thinking? Were you thinking anything at all? 5:30 thoughts and 11:30 thoughts are not quite the same. 11:30 is ready. It's alive and running. 5:30 thoughts do not have to run to feel alive – they're alive by simply being. And with no one around to interrupt, to judge, to bruise or to tarnish – they can just be and they do that well. 5:30 thoughts do not show face and they're rarely ever prepared, but they know to show soul and they know to be raw and fresh regardless of the sleep that may or may not have come before it. In this very instance, my 5:30 thoughts are laying themselves out onto what you're 11:30 mind is reading. 

Don't be frustrated with your inability to sleep. Don't greet the sunrise with resentment. Know that you and your 5:30 thoughts are far from lonely. You get to see and experience and feel what everyone is too busy sleeping to acknowledge. Being kept up into the early hours of the morning and getting the chance to rest in dawn's embrace is a gift – it's almost as if life is handing you this gift and sharing with you the secret that is its beauty. Don't you feel flattered to be given this chance while the rest of the world is ignorant to it? Can't you see how beautiful she is? 

To dawn: I thank you. 
To the rest of the world: I wish for you to fail to fall asleep and experience this. I wish you get to feel this need to say thank you as well.