by Emma Kitts
The sun does not ask if I am ready.
It rises anyway, stretching gold across the edge of the world,
like a promise I did not know I was allowed to keep.
I stand in the sand, toes buried in something steady,
watching light break open the sky.
For years, I woke up to alarms, not beauty.
To responsibility, not reflection.
To the lists of things that needed me before I ever needed myself.
As a teen, I learned what survival feels like.
It sounds like footsteps that do not stop,
Looks like hands that are always busy,
Feels like growing up
before you have been given the chance to be young.
The sun still rose back then.
I just did not have the time to see it.
Now I take the time to stand still long enough
to notice how the ocean breathes
in,
out,
in,
out.
Like it is reminding me
that life continues
even when I thought I had fallen behind.
The sun does not ask
where I have been.
It does not ask
why it took me so long.
It simply rises.
And for the first time,
So do I.
photo credit: Richard Pasquarella, Unsplash