It Must Be Morning.

Intro:
Were not the days overwhelmingly sunny enough for her to possibly bear? So another day came to challenge her assumption of what a day could subsume. The magnitude of the possibilities of a day rose to a climax in one night, with a simple sight that was worth remembering.

I.
As these chambers of her heart mold around a new occupant, its walls stretch and bend over this ambitious endeavor. For the dweller dares not replace or displace, but make space. And these scars are to be had, the wounds necessary to endure to swell a small house into a home. And it was welcomed.

II.
What kind of person aspires to house the ethereal resplendence of the sun?, an unworthy landlord, no less. This unmerited landlord takes rent, and is meed in the effulgent gossamer undulations of his radiance. She makes it morning wherever she is, because the sun has made its nest in her heart. It can be seen from her smile, her eyes. She tries to hide, to no avail.

III.
It must be morning wherever you are. Does not the sun cleave the night? A casualty that should be had. While you burden the day with your absolute luminescence, she shields her undeserved eyes from this sight. You seemed to resist the night that insisted itself upon you, that enveloped. But, you shone rebelliously through with no remorse. And what a fortunate target I was.

And these being ‘not so’ many days after the very first day of my entire life, it was a life’s worth. Sufficient, every additional day continues to overwhelm the previous, a superfluous delight upon light. And at night, it’s like thoughts that connect from shoulder to chin.

IV.
Yes, that’s the mood I’m in.