Morning Riser by Brian Woo

A foggy morning always greets me. In particular, winter always seems to bring a semblance of loneliness. Winter in itself, seems to echo a time of solitude, away from the distractions of the world, waking up to the wolf of isolation. I find myself staring out the window, wishing a small frost had glazed on the window. To my dismay, it was just the shadow of empties, the deep cries that I hear within my soul, longing to be with friends once more. Yet the feeling was a comfort, a pillow of sorts that had always been by my side. A comfortable feeling of being away from people, the self-reflection and basking of selfishness. Winter has come and long gone with the busy bustling of the classroom and has replaced itself with a chill breeze, not in the air, but in my perception. Turning away from the window, I reached out for fmri glasses. Up till the moment, my eyes had been blurred. The scenery of the outdoors is only a blue haze, true and bright. Yet as soon as the lenses of vision nestled on my nose, I could see the clear outlines of the house in the neighborhood,  the shape of the window, and the outlines of the street lamps that were still on. The thick fog of the morning pierced through the streetlamps allowing me to feel a warmth within myself, within this solitude of winter. There could be warmth. A feeling of self-satisfaction, knowing who I was would only be defined by myself and my own actions. Through the harsh cold winter may have chased away those around me. It left me seeking refuge within myself. A place where walls constructed around my heart would only be pierced by the notion of my own self. I realize that still in my nightwear, I feel the irresistible urge to drift off to the land of sleep. Where my spinning endless mind would take a rest from self reflection and self awareness. I hastily tear off my clothes. Though the warmth would envelop me, it would only be a temporary bliss. Feeling the heirs' child air of my room, I jolted my senses awake. The momentarily warmth would disappear as Hypnos could not lure me to his side. A crude awakening of the worst, from the dreams I would seek. No longer was for a time of rest, but a time of self-reflection and self-fulfillment. Hastily, I cured my way too close to slip on a pair of socks. Though my body was still cold from the crisp air, my feet were enveloping warmth. My desire for warmth had been fulfilled. Ironically, I have mah pairs of socks. The athletic socks that I wear in the summer,t o the classy black knee socks for formal events to the magical fuzzy socks that my cousin had given me years past. The multitude of souls all provide their comfort in different ways through their own memories and tragedies, yet have the simple current foal to protect my body from the simple harsh cold. I think to myself that running low on these comforts would not be a wise choice, and I would need to take a moment to treasure the articles of warmth. Only I know how long it would take for me to take a bin of unwashed socks  and through the washer and only to forget at the last moment that I had to run the dryer.  The movement of weather clothes to a dryer and the unseeing knowledge of clothes going rancid lay in my mind. Casting away the anxiety I had a momentary pause of wondering if still water going murky would be the same as my soul left inside the washer. All the numerous steps taken to find a blissful warmth, whether it would be in my bed or in my close simpy was so much work. To gain a momentary happiness. Even winter could give me an opportunity to reflect and ponder. I would think that the cold would go away someday, but for now I enjoy the abyss of myself.