morning sunrises


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Mar 15, 2004
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This isn't really a poem, but a short story. The whole story is written in alphabetical order (ex. A few days... Back when I... Caffeine wasn't...) all the way from a to z. I kind of got rushed, and just threw the last bit together, so I apologize for that, let me know what you all think though.

A few days ago I was sitting on my front porch watching the sunrise behind the trees that line my backyard. Back when I was in about seventh or eighth grade I would do this every morning with my father. Caffeine wasn’t a very abundant nutrient in my breakfast, so mornings were the perfect time to relax and share moments of serenity with my dad before the everyday stresses would set in. Daily problems such as the constant ridicule from other students over my “handicaps” went unmentioned during the mornings, which was exactly what I needed instead of the therapy my guidance counselor suggested. Each sunrise we would watch brought memories of blues and greens to my mind that I was unable to see, or even imagine at any other time since the accident.

For the first few seconds after the impact everything seemed alright, but once I realized I was unable to move my legs the shock began to set in. Gesturing for a paramedic with my free hand sent an unbelievable amount of pain down my spine. He asked me how many people were in the vehicle, seeming to be concerned with something other than me being trapped under the dashboard of our ‘87 Cadillac. I took a few seconds to get myself together before I gave a short reply of, “Three of us.” Just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse I heard the paramedic yell, “Somebody is missing, there was a third passenger.” Keeping his composure was an impressive task considering a human’s body was lost in the dark of a car crash...

Losing my temper, my innocence, my sanity; I lost everything when I lost my father. My friends didn’t understand the relationship my father and I developed after the woman of our lives had passed away. Nobody could replace my mother, now nobody could replace my father, and nobody could begin to grasp the feeling of losing both parents by the age of fourteen. Of course people showed sympathy at first, but a sympathetic feeling will always run its course long before scars from a loss will heal. Perhaps people were right about me after all, perhaps my life had lost all meaning, and perhaps my life had become worthless, besides... being an orphan for two years isn’t really anything to complain about is it? Questioning my life's worth wasn’t the real question on my mind, I had been questioning everything else it seemed.

Running away was a decision that changed my life forever, the hardest decision, yet the most important decision of my life. Sixteen years of age and living on my own, it was truly a miracle to find a family that took me into their home and called me their own. Time to time I think about my childhood and realize it truly was a miracle that I survived, not just that I found a family. Unwilling to give up my will to keep living is probably what kept me alive.

Vitalizing sunrises are now the only memories I have of my father; no pictures or home videos to remind me of our time together. With each moment of happiness I see the sunrise which reminds me of the colors of my childhood. Xanadu dreams. Yearning to learn to dream... in color, I watch every sunrise I can. Zealously I pursue the day I can dream again.
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