Even If Your Not Here...

It started with a message- a few simple words that would begin my day. And as time came and went, it was those words that would become my everything. I would open my eyes, and in those few brief seconds between consciousness and sleep, my world would be flooded by the feeling of his love surrounding me. But soon after, when the weight of the world would crash down on my shoulders and my insecurities would burst forth from the oblivion of sleep, I would roll over and look out my window. I would stare at the world as it stretched before me and I would watch as it all faded into browns and greys. For a second, I see the beauty that encases the world making it magical. I hear the birds as they chatter amongst themselves and I wonder if they would mind me joining their conversation, a conversation filled with mind-numbing warmth and a declaration of happiness so strong that the flowers in the tree's bloom with every single repetitive chirp. I watch as the morning mist rises and the sun begins to caress the night soaked earth- it reaches into the very corners of the darkness and brings forth the early morning blue that we all associate with the end of night, the end of my fear.

I look past the spider-webs attached to the French window which tries it's hardest to hide the front veranda covered in dirt and folders which have decayed over the months that they were left carelessly outside. I see the rotting railing and wonder how long it will be until the house- lifted by cement blocks, crashes into the dirt and I sleep with my head resting upon the dying green grass that my family calls a front lawn. I wonder if the ugly maroon railing was ever really pretty. I look past this and see the vehicles of the farm. Huge metallic giants filled with nothing but freezing air and cold wiring.

Even further beyond this I look and I watch as the light plays havoc with the shadows on the fields, the colours changing from grey hues to light browns and other colours similar to yellow. Flocks of what can only be described as black birds take off as soon as the first morning light hits them. Their wild cackling, the call of magpies and crows, forces me to remember that the world isn't always so pretty. But I refuse to fully acknowledge this, and so I continue looking and I begin to stare into oblivion as I see the far away worlds in vain desperation that something I see will give me hope, a reason to get out of bed and too look away from this window. The light still begins to shine and I watch the final corner of darkness swept away into another day.

Time rushes on and I begin to hear my world waking up, the sweeping noise of the door that leads into the other rooms, the clinking of the china as mugs and plates are removed from cupboards, and the heavy rustling of the knives and forks as they are shuffled around. It brings me back to reality, and try as though I might; I can never seem to be as deeply immersed in my staring as I was. I continue looking out my window, preferring to stare into the nothingness as time ticks by. I see the workers as they come together for their days work, standing one by one as they warm themselves in the morning's strengthening light whilst the dogs run around, kicking up the red earth and playing their silly little morning games which manage to give the cold men some entertainment. The smallest, a little white thing with a shaggy cut given by grandfather, jumps out of the way of on oncoming car. The other three men don't even look, preferring instead to greet the man who has narrowly avoided taking the life of this dog, but won't look past his own self-importance to realize his actions. I watch from my secret window as I see a small, worried frown appear on my grandfather's weather-beaten and ageing face. His dislike of fast moving vehicles on his property becomes clear with this one gesture that only lasts a second.

The rest of the men continue on with their day, each walking in a different direction and each I assume will enter once again into the darkened places that no morning sunlight will ever penetrate completely. Just as the men enter the shed, rolling back the thick door and it screeches its awful noise, my phone makes that annoying reverberation and my world runs back at me. It hits hard and fast and it almost feels like dying, almost. I must move from my window and roll over amongst the sheets, fighting them as they try to entangle me and drag me back into hell. I look around to find an escape and see that I don't need one. There, on the edge just millimetres from falling off, is my phone. The pixilation's change colour as I move my semi-warm body underneath the white cover quilt spread across my bed and as I look upon the screen, I feel a smile begin to play on my lips and in my eyes. There, in neat black lettering is his name stretched across the screen. I feel hesitation as I wait for the message to open, just like I do every other morning. His words are simple, and I like the way they play across the screen. At first I feel normal, but the longer I stare at his words, the more the world falls away and I no longer care about talking with the birds, the darkness that sleeps during the day or anything else for that matter. Seeing his words is enough to light a fire inside of me that keeps me alive. And all it takes- every morning, is six little words... "Sorry! Fell asleep! I Love You!"...