How could I lift me out of this fog? I hadn’t showered all day.
So I walked to the bathroom. Turned on the hot water and submerged myself into a cleanse. I couldn’t tell the difference between the tears and the droplets from the showerhead.
But I was moved to sing.
My psalm to God.
A sweet melody of surrender.
Tunes from the pits of my soul rolled off of the top of my dome.
I could feel my pulse through my toes.
This heart began to defrost.
My spirit is still alive.
The sun was gone well before I decided to greet the trees. It was dark out. But this was what I needed. The navy blue hue of the sky was gentle on my eyes.
There I stood on a balcony.
Breathing in the breeze.
Listing mentally all the things I was grateful for.
In that moment, overstaying my welcome in New Orleans didn’t seem so bad.
In fact it seemed to be destined.
I had a roof over my head and fufu and light soup to eat. I had clean clothes, no money, but breath in my lungs. Hours ago I had no idea how I would get home, but I had a brother to call.
In this moment, I was remembering light.
I was remembering that feeling I felt yesterday when I took a nap on a bench.
The sun was kissing me.
Overwhelming me by its warmth.
As much of a romantic as I am, even I have to remind myself that:
I too am loved.