Like the Sunrise

It’s four in the morning and I have not slept for even a second yet I don’t feel tired. I suspect I will feel it later today when this explosion of creative energy I have ignited begins to fade, but for now I am as brightly awake as the rising sun. 

Watching the sunrise, what a simplistically wonderful- no magical- thing to do. I have swung open my bedroom window, coincidentally also the fire escape window, and am sitting with my legs dangling in the open air. My parents say it is far too dangerous, that I am far too clumsy and liable to fall; however, they have given up telling me not to for this is my paradise. 

I can see everything from up here. The entire neighbourhood, or at least their gardens. I believe you can tell a lot about a person by merely looking at their gardens. There’s the people who have a kaleidoscope of vividly coloured flowers, they are the creative ones. They are unconcerned about how things are meant to look and only care for what makes them happiest even if that is an otherworldly amount of colours. I like these people best. Then there’s the ones with grass a flawless emerald. They have you fooled until the sun shines just right and the plastic is revealed. They are concerned only with looks even if nature is harmed. And then there’s the people who make no attempt to look after their land, but there is two sides to this: those who are unable to and those who purely do not care at all.

There is a church at the top of the street with a cross so high it appears it may have actually made it back to heaven. It’s bells are eerily silent this time in the morning. Their golden colour scintillates as the waking sun catches them. As the sun wakes so do the birds. 

They sing the stories they can not speak in melodious tunes of sorrow and joy. There are stories everywhere if you know where to look. Sometimes I hum along or even match the pitch to my piano, their songs are excellent inspiration. The air is crisp and damp and dense with petrichor from the summer shower the evening before. It is perfect for the birds to fly in and perfectly refreshing for me to sit in especially after the night I had. 

I have known for as long as I can remember that I was going to be a writer someday. It was never a question of if only when. For me words are living creatures like bees, buzzing around in my head waiting to be freed so they can do what they were meant to- make peoples lives just a little bit sweeter. But my story has been lacking romance and, well, I have tried to make something up, but it doesn’t feel right. I mean I haven’t even had my first kiss yet. Not for lack of trying, I might add. 

It was Saturday night and I was free- eighteen and my going out days are already over I know it’s sad- but luckily so was he. I suggested we drive out of the city and away from its artificial glow to see the stars for real. He agreed. We packed his car with pillows and blankets, food and drinks and of course my notebook and pen, then headed out. The ride was filled with atrocious singing that would put howling cats to shame, but we laughed so it was worth it. 

We found a field far away and set out the blankets. It was ethereal. I have never seen anything so incredible and for the first time in my life I don’t think I could capture it in words. Gleaming, twinkling, glittering jewels ruling beside the moon in the kingdom of skies above our heads. I felt so small and yet so significant looking up at the vast array of universes and kingdoms that remain always out of reach. I could have stayed there forever, then the downpour started. 

It was so abrupt we squealed like toddlers and dived up. No words needed to be exchanged it was clear we were not going to hide out in the car. He offered me his hand which I took and we danced. Our music was the pattering of rain as it caressed our skin, the whispering blades of grass and the gentle song of the wind. My skirt spun around me like a ball gown, but my hair was melded to my face, so was his. We laughed and giggled and laughed again. It was enchanting. 

I guess that’s fitting it had been the summer solstice and it’s said spirits walked the earth more freely during this time. If there was any night were the earth could come together for us then this would be it. Especially when a rock appeared out of nowhere- cliche much- and Luka stumbled towards me our faces millimetres apart. I’m usually the one that falls.

Our song continued to play, but our dancing halted. We kissed. He held my hand with one and the other cupped my cheek whilst I rested mine featherlight on his waist. His lips were damp, but soft. The barest of touches sealing a promise of so much more. He felt like starlight and all the spirits dancing around us. It was real and that made it perfect. And then as abruptly as the rain came, I knew exactly what to write. 

We didn’t talk on the way back both of us lost to nerves. The second he pulled up at my front door I ran, I had to write it down, my notebook was not nearly private enough. So I spent the whole night writing and then worrying. There was no going back now. He hadn’t said a word…but then again neither had I. 

Watching as the dark night turned to gold as the sun took its crown back from the moon, I realised romance is not dancing in the rain- even if it was romantic. Romance is knowing exactly what another person is thinking without them having to tell you. It is that burst of inspiration that withholds sleep from you. It is that feeling of complete surety that you can make your mistakes together without fear of judgment. It is golden and warm and clear like the sunrise.