Him For Her.

Her Morning.

It seems that as soon as the sun makes up its first drip of light into the small of the sky that my brain decides it's time to be up and awake. I woke up right at 5:00 am. I hate mornings. I hate them with a whole new level of passion that is still unknown to human psychological and biological sciences. I did not wake like that on purpose, I never really do, but even under my non-addictive sleeping aid medication... I'm still wide awake at O' dark hundred.

After I took at least 20 - 30 minutes shifting and moving for a comfortable spot to crash back asleep. I had finally come to the conclusion that I was not falling back to sleep for the life of me. So, in an exhausting defeat, I took to staring at the ceiling above for awhile before I finally crawled out of my bed. As usual, I did everything I regularly do before school. I spent at least an hour in the bathroom for a nice and warm shower... Even though, I know I don't need to take that long, I will always take a free opportunity to stand under the warm sprays of my shower water. Then, of course, I got dressed into my casual sleeveless hoodie, I threw on an old pair of ripped jeans that Mindy had left over once, and I picked out my favorite Vans. I didn't really decide on how I was going to do my hair, so I just tied it up in a bun, and called it good. I did all my normal stuff, nothing different from my normal routine, and by the time I was done... The time on my phone had a glow of 6:43 am that shined over my lock screen.

By about 7:12 am, I'm completely ready to go, and all I have to wait on is my friend Tristan to pick me up in his car. It shouldn't be too long, he's never late, and just around the time that is is... He and my best friend in the world, Mindy would be arriving. A few moments of wandering the kitchen as if I'm trying to find something to eat becomes wearisome for me. As I am aware that I am suppose to try to eat as much as I can possibly eat without getting sick, but also fighting the sickly feeling of not wanting to risk getting sick. I have always hated throwing up, it's gross, it feels horrible, and I've been doing it off and on since I was about five years old. Yet, I still roam the kitchen like a ghost, looking for something, as if I'm going to eat it like a normal person would. But, I don't.

I gave up on the breakfast idea and I ended up walking back into my room. I sat down at my keyboard and I could feel my lip curl into a little bit of a smile as I hovered my fingers over the keys. A moment or two later, I have plugged in some headphones, and I decided that a little extra practice wouldn't hurt until he gets here. I turn to practice on the piano. I am soothing into the melody... Feeling again.

Its after 7 am, by the time I return to earth, I have practically scared my skeleton out of my body as I see my mom standing behind me. I will say this, if there were a diploma to become a certified Stalker.. My mother would have been top of her class, seems like.

"You were about four years old when you first wanted to play..." She started on again with her sickly sweet adoration for the things she deemed worth reminiscing over. My mother... She doesn't hover, but she does have her moments.

"Uh huh. What's up, Mom?" I asked her as my expression stays plain and my heart pounds against my chest so hard it seems that it's trying to break out.
"Oh. Your pills. Don't forget them," she said as she tossed a dark, orange, transparent cylinder container with a label description onto my messy, and unmade bed. I nodded at her simple request, it wasn't anything new, I take anti-nausea, anti-depressants, and a few other medications that are meant to help me overcome this full-body-involved illness of mine. "And, Hun... Try to eat something, please." With that last thing, she up, and left me there in my room.

"Yeah Mom. All over it." I mumbled to myself as I knew it wouldn't be heard, but I also knew it would have been said, whether she stuck around to listen or not. Suddenly, I am alone again, but I know that Tristan has arrived by the sounding of his car horn. I can see from my piano bench, through my window, down to the shiny gray Mustang that carries my two best friends in it. At that moment, I look to my piano again, as if I'm saying goodbye to an old friend, I shrug, and maybe nod a little before I get up to leave.