how colorful

How colorful it is
to wake up and
listen to your own breath
watch the sunlight
between your fingers

press your cheek to
the cold windowsill
and smell the fog
as dawn takes off
and another day begins

Dear Spade,
I took a walk this morning. Not too far, just a stroll along the riverbank across my home. Dawn was breaking on me, and the sky was colorfully painted in shades of red and blue.
I took my sweet time and rediscovered a lot of things.
It took me too long to realize that my neighbor in the far east of the street had such pretty and lush roofgarden, with pretty sunflowers. And that just behind the houses, you can see the school building very clearly from across the river--you can even wave to the students, if there were any.
Some birds greeted me on the way, flying around so energetically--when I realized that they were actually little bats. I wonder where their home were, and if they liked early mornings, too.
I noticed my shallow breath, and fast pace. I slowed down, just like you would, on walks like this. Took as much precious oxygen into my lungs and waste them away. You're right, I have to slow down. You won't need to match my pace, no need to get tired out. Not you, not anyone, not even me. So that I can take on everything as they were, face them bravely, give back what is deserved.

A nice morning in a messy downtown. They need not talk to me, need not understand me. I'm already at home.

They just need to exist.

You just need to exist.

(Thank you)