It won’t matter how much you toss and turn, you will be awake, and it will be better to face it. Lie there with the cotton, one hand unconsciously clutching your stomach, the other one rubbing your chest. Maybe the rubbing will help soothe the burn that lingers after you realize that that heavy warmth you felt against your back was only a pillow.
You will stare at the white ceiling. Try to cry, but fail, because, you will realize, you can’t even do that anymore. Think about how dry your mouth feels, how it hasn’t felt right since Wednesday night. Replay everything, and feel the icy water roll around your stomach again.
But then stop yourself. When your nails start to dig into the flesh because you’re holding yourself so tight so that you’ll feel something other than numbness and cold, stop yourself.
Think about poetry.
Think about Buddy Wakefield’s “If hearts really broke every time we fell from love, I’d be able to offer you confetti by now” and realize that even if he was wrong, and hearts do break, confetti is still pretty fucking beautiful. You used to love confetti, everyone loves confetti. Cling to that confetti. You are not a tragedy, he said, you are an emergency.
Think about Robert Frost’s “Nothing gold can stay” and disagree with him completely. Then remember the very first book you ever loved and take its advice: Stay gold, Ponyboy. Don’t let the world harden you; always remain a sunrise.
Think about Hafez’s “If you knew the end of your story, nothing on any page – not one of your dramas, could bother you as much…” Clothe yourself with the comforting wisdom of clichés, and accept, deep down, that everything does happen for a reason.
Think about Natasha Trethewey said that “certain the sounds I make, are enough to call someone home” and agree with her completely because you ARE enough. Somehow. Deep down. Home isn’t an external place, home is inside of you, inside of me, inside of all of us, and that is more than enough. Your words are magic, filled with love, and certainly enough to call someone home.
That someone, however, is you. Me. Us.
There will be many kinds of morning afters, but you’ll be there to hold yourself through all of them.
And everything is going to be alright.