Some Mornings I wake up
Drowning in sensations
Unique to past moments
And I am buried in a stuffy area
At the top of my mind
Musty with nostalgia
And I relive these moments:
I think, first of all, of darkness
I think of my bare feet smacking against slick pavement
As I run, staggering,
Spurting out short giggles in between gasps of warm air
As I inhale the sweet sweat of friends.
I think of passenger seats
Which hold the opportunity to fill the car with a steady bass
That I feel pounding in my chest.
The chilling bite of an open window on my fingertips
And then on my hand
And then on my arm.
I think of my clenching abdominals
After sustaining a hearty laugh
And The reward of seeing that mirth return
With glittering eyes
And a tuneful cackle.
I think of quilts and weathered sofa
As I melt to the soft crack of a fire
And my mother tugs at the tender hair on my scalp.
I think of the intoxication I feel
With the strike of a chord
The vocalized emotions I am so willingly swept into
And I choke on my so eager tears.
I think of mornings with nothing to do
When auras of these moments invade my perception of the present
And I wander about the house
Haunted
Until words form in my mind
And I mold and shape them
Till the feeling flows out as lyrics.