prototypicalthoughts

Dawn touches you in a way that no man ever could: gently, as the light eases onto the pillow to brighten your hair. You are left sparkling, a reflection of the sun itself, as the morning slips up your back and into your shoulders. This is waking. And who else knows the sound of your tired bones as you tumble out of bed? Who else can feel the cold as it slides into your toes, the wind-chill as it brushes your chest? It is I, myself, that knows and loves you beyond comprehension. I, who reaches across time to meet you, bringing all the joy and sorrow of yesterday and anticipations of tomorrow. We are connected, everytime at