Waking up from a dream I can only wish that the clouds were clearing up outside. I tried to get out of the bed, but as always it took me quite some time to even make it sitting down. Still in bed against the wall, I was still zonked but I could tell that it was still early — feeling the cold concrete on my back. As I rubbed my eyes to open with an aching head — had too much of everything last night — I realized that I have not had a cigarette for hours, so I lighted one in celebration.

I closed my eyes several times wandering off in my thoughts walking here and there, in the shapeless dimensions of my own universe. I did not realize that I had fallen back to sleep. Lately, I have the habit to narcotize myself by sleeping when things are not that amusing. After a while, finally getting up, way too early for breakfast and still in last night’s clothes, I took a look through the misty glass of the window checking on the weather. I stepped outside then sat on the sand, too lazy to do anything, just chewing gum while the others were still sleeping, as I waited for the sun to bleed beams on me.

Early mornings are still the best. As I watched the waves kissing the shoreline again and again, it was through waiting that I completely understood that the then and now are not that different from each other after all. Waiting to be there and to do what is now. While the wind did the same with me, as it graced onto these passages, as we decided to take a stroll through the corridors of our deepest thoughts during so, we found black and white Polaroid’s moving in slow motion and at times in overly animated shorts of how things were and are.

We learned to let things be. So, we sat and waited for our sunshine. The virtue gave us more time to ourselves. It somehow expanded the short time we had, supported precision on analogy, while process carefully observed.

Guarantee was not an ally though, but hope is.

Drizzles dropped, ironically, I still had my sunglasses on. Ever hopeful for my sunshine to come, I had no choice but to move by the tree towards the shade. The fruity taste of the gum started to fade. Thoughts of what ifs and could have been came in. Sometimes even if we are exactly at the precise position, things still fall short. But those days were all about second chances, so one chose to wait still.

I found and opened up a note from my left pocket reading it to myself. I could not recognize the handwriting at first, but it was mine. I must have written it the night before — I could not remember. Writing to imitate, I tried to make it my own. Wanting to be original, a conventional fool, the words we found beneath the hums and the pages were the ones we sang to the people we woke up with. We watched the sky unfold from monochrome until it slowly turned into butterscotch gold. Blissfully sedating with hangover, we took a dip down under into the ocean’s arms. Washing away our blue Octobers while ceiling us were the vastest horizons lined by white rabbit clouds and giant seahorses. We watched the sunrise to always remember that there are always good days to look back to. Binding and overwhelming us were the waters and the skies.

We were in between with sands on our feet.

The sensations of turning the tides, the now and then to be one and the same, bending space and time, I had my legs folded against my chest. As the sun finally showed its magnificence, its rays revealed the stains on my plain white. On the sand, never minding, as another day brakes — I was still there waiting, in celebration.