sweet little unforgettable thing

mornings are usually cold and lonely. closed eyes and pursed lips, we kiss silent goodbyes before I’m even aware I’m awake. shards of light through the blinds are sharp and slice the soft of my skin. when I finally catch up with the sunrise, my back curls into an ache on the starch mattress. I am used to incessant pain, originating at a different point every day. my fortunes are that of bruised knees and chaffed thighs, cracking joints and itchy skin. it all becomes too clear when the sun wakes up, and yet I still know how to turn the truth off like a runny faucet. the mornings are when I forget about the bad things from the night before. bad things are always hiding behind my eyelids. in the mornings, I see a quaint breakfast, a steaming cup of coffee, and the world opening at the touch of my finger like a print scanner. I am made of opportunities that I let pass me by. they’re ingredients I bought for a recipe I never followed. I’m sitting on the couch with foggy eyes and I’m yearning for someone to talk to. the bright silence and unresponsive companionship pounds against my head with a mallet. they’re begging me to admit that I feel something, but feelings are made of languages I never learned how to speak. the smoke calls to me. she says she will help me, make me better. I don’t know what better is, but still, I inhale. the feelings bubble inside of me, they’re popping- pop, pop, pop. my head feels lighter than before and I think, I’ve never liked the taste of soda and carbonation burns my throat like the porcelain bowl I left in the microwave. it’s always been the same. but, maybe, these bubbles are the things that make you giddy. the good kind of butterflies in your stomach. maybe I’m missing something. the carbonation that gives you fuzzy smiles and blind optimism. I want those false niceties. they make people happy. even if it’s fake happy. even that is better than cold and lonely mornings when your feet shiver against the ice laminate floors, when your heart feels so empty you question whether it’s still there, when even the air you breathe burns as it makes it’s way into your lungs. those mornings when you think that maybe someday, eventually, everything will feel kind of okay.