I woke up at dawn this morning, unconsiously checking messages in my cellphone. Then I remember the obituary last night.
On my bed, with my eyes open and the room was still dark, I thought of you. Or more of me. Particularly when I said “I’ll make it up to you.” The promise that easier said than done, because we’re human and we always race with time.
It stroke me hard. Apparently, I don’t have all the time in the world. Then I’d rather blame this spacious world. It takes time to get me to your side. And money. And all the efforts to move this lazy bum.
I never managed to make it up to you. I didn’t try hard enough though. Part of me hesitated, are you worth the effort? Do you really want me to make it up to you?
Alone, it gets me to a deeper thinking. I do really want to make it up to you. Doesn’t matter how many times you let it down. Doesn’t matter you appear and dissappear without logic. You should be the one called by Rainbow, because rainbow doesn’t always come out after the rain. Unlike sunrise, it never fails to show after the dark night. Ah, for someone who’s been calling me the Rainbow nickname, I should beat the lazy ass.
The morning crawled in, I crawled back to bed under my fleece blanket. The noise from the nearby mosque broke in the silent. You missed the sunrise today. But I bet, where you are now is sunrise all the time.