I awoke from the clutches of sleep, my eyelids heavy with the remnants of dreams that lingered like the whispers of forgotten secrets. The soft, diffused light of dawn filtered through the curtains, illuminating the intricate gypsum decorations adorning the ceiling. Those delicate designs had been my sanctuary, a canvas where my imagination roamed freely in the quiet hours of the night. Beneath them, The walls of my room adorned in the wisdom of literary giants whose words had etched themselves into the depths of my soul… With a languid stretch, I cast off the embrace of my soft coverlet and slid my feet onto the cool floor. The anticipation of the day ahead enveloped me, As I waited for the water to reach its boiling point, I inhaled the essence of morning itself. Coffee wasn’t just a beverage; it was a ritual, a sacred elixir that connected me with the world and filled my spirit with vitality. Returning to my coffee, I engaged in a joyful dance with the rising steam as it whispered tales of fresh beginnings. … I ambled into the bathroom, where the mirror awaited. It was there, while gazing at my reflection, that I engaged in an unexpected dialogue with myself. My reflection smiled back at me, ‘What a hypocritical liar you are’. I murmured, my voice softened by the tender morning light. “You suffer from schizophrenia, my dear. In the evenings, darkness and melancholy grip your heart. The ghosts of painful memories and past traumas haunt you, and you weep as if these wounds were freshly inflicted. Each night, you yearn for the embrace of eternal slumber, hoping that the morning will never come. Yet, against all odds, you awaken, and not just awaken, but rise with an unbridled enthusiasm, shedding the burdens that even the mountains could not bear. The sun’s gentle rays seem to emanate from your very soul, touching your fair complexion and caressing your long lashes’.I chuckled at the amusing exchange with my own reflection, a bemused smile playing on my lips. It was true; I was a creature of contradictions. The mornings were my salvation, a rebirth of spirit and a balm for the aches of the night. Each dawn, I greeted the world with newfound hope, as if the past were but a distant echo fading into the horizon. It was true; I was a creature of contradictions. The mornings were my salvation, a rebirth of spirit as if the past were but a distant echo fading into the horizon.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, realizing I had been lost in thought, “the water must have dried up on the stove.”
© Nirouz Boubou 2023-09-15