good morning

good morning. it's a phrase full of connotations. so heavy with pleasure, sometimes with agony.

the agony of hearing it when there's nothing good about waking at the crack of dawn to commute to a job you hate and everyone else is so damn chirpy. that's not a morning, that's sleepwalking. that's not the real good morning.

morning is an intimate space, a time alone: only the closest people to you see you in your unadulterated state of justwokenup, blearyconfusedcrumpled. good morning is the sound of closeness, when the day is barely new and soon the bacon will be frying and the coffee brewing. good morning is the sound of warmth, under blankets or sunlight pouring in, good morning is the sound of having shared the night, and your presence the first thing i sense in the day. good morning is what i want to hear, the sound of bodies wrapped together making it through the night.

good morning is the knowledge of intimacy.