The Rush


I don’t usually fancy myself hurrying through an early part of the day. Beginnings or introductions are things I believe we should savour and slowly bask ourselves in. Each familiar scent from the breakfast spread, each tapping beat of morning raindrops down the sides of our window, each hue of sunlight peeking through - breathe them all in.

But skipping down those spiral stairs this morning felt good. The pinks and blues from the stained glass window reflected themselves on the white wall before me, in rhythms. Quick hues of sunlight rushed through the front window brushing themselves over my skin telling me the day was mine.

I caught a sight of our wintry soaked boots greeting each other as I opened my front door. But I believe I saw myself smiling first. A smile I have not seen in a while. And yours.

I don’t usually fancy myself hurrying through an early part of the day. But I have missed this rush. Not so much the run down the stairs. But the way my heart went beating in unorganized rhythms when our smiles met. And maybe the way my hand rushed itself finding its way to yours in between the cold wintry air.

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