This morning, the Atlantic Ocean sunrise keeps showing off as though it knows I’m invested enough to want to write about it.
I have been in this city for a whole 4 years and the word “sunrise” hasn’t quite made it into any of my writings. That must change. Because sunrise over the ocean gives me so much. When I feel like I need reminding of worth and purpose, I know where to look. I’m truly grateful and thankful for my time here.
I rose this morning with innocence of a newborn baby and I had no expectations of anyone or anything but trusted that as I came out of my home the world would willingly receive me as I am, an imperfect and broken man with little faith in humanity. Somewhere in the cellar of my secret soul there lies a quiver of hope. This hope doesn’t seem to lie in the quench of humanity. Humanity will kick you in the nuts 365 times and ask you if you’re okay while doing it…
I knew a young man once…
I tore myself to pieces to give him what I thought was happiness. I was a hair’s breadth from setting my whole being on fire to keep him eternally warm. He knew this. Only because I wore my heart on my eyebrow. I bought him flowers every week. A few years later, a gorgeous, colourful butterfly settled on an orchid I’d carefully picked for him. He found the beautiful butterfly. It had beautiful flappy wings. It was full of iridescent colours. He caught it and put it in a jar. He thought he had found a pet. Then he got tired of it and ripped it’s wings off and let it go. You see, he liked the colour of wings of the butterfly. The butterfly just came with too much responsibility. So it was easier to rip its wings off and laminate its wings into a frame.
I somehow, many years later, take responsibility in the cruelty that happened. I shouldn’t have given flowers. I should have been less feeling. I felt too much. I gave too much. I loved too much. And for that, a rare butterfly died. With it, my hunger to be loved and to need people. Needing people is very difficult in this world. Especially when you have more than enough capacity to feel. I feel too much. I hurt too much. It’s all too much. But god! The sunrises are worth every jab of ache and feel. I’m living.
Frank Malaba © 2018
