username:
sunnyfaerie
name:
amai sorbette
gender:
female
(au:) wip with a very tired free verse poet who sometimes likes to make sweets and doodle + her typical day
5:12 am.
springtime saccharin
another night of little sleep. same old. tired paws graze over the surface of disheveled duvets, lifting, hovering above the edge in reluctance. pull them up? down? to leave or to stay? same old, same old. she hates waking up. doesn't everybody? everybody always complains about the harsh ringing of their alarms, the grumbles they carry on hours later after transitioning into the new day- it's not really a dilemma reserved for her. yet she can hardly move. aches of fatigue coil within her muscles, seeping through and pulling as morning tides of exhaustion; her eyes sorely blink with the pulsing, bruised glows of the lightening sky at her curtains; her covers are coiled around her, clutching her, winding in serpentine grips with the plumage of avian angels cooing her back into her dazed slumber. but she is awake, and there's no going back until the night returns.
she crawls out of bed, not bothering to flick on the lamp on her little bedside table- instead, she gingerly paws for the notebook next to it, perching on the edge of her bed with the book in one paw and a pen in the other. slow paws glide across pages, pages with worn-out corners and cramped lines, pages with glimpses of- of what? alternate realities? - and she stops to flick back to a blank one. a blank page is her best friend when she is inspired and her worst enemy when her mind too is blank. she thinks of this page as neither, as her mind is weighed down with nothing, buried deep in nonexistent weight, as hazed over and hushed as the loll of her glazed eyes. she cannot think; she simply scrawls down the two-word title. it's something.
6:37 am.
"rise,"
first calls the sun.
the crown triumphs over the woebegone skies and fleets of harsh snow,
reconquering with aureate brilliance their kingdom
the ichor of light and warmth seeping into flora once more
and living again.
and again they call,
"rise, and bloom."
dear god, she's tired. she drags stone-weighed legs through the thick air, setting them down on the hardwood floor and wincing with the little energy she had at the jolt of cold that seeped into her paws. and, of course, her head began to ache. the entirety of her skull seemed to become heavier and ache as a dull hammer slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth against her temples, and she had to take a moment to clutch her head and lightly groan. same old, but she never got used to it. drink water, her mind advised. exercise, her mind advised. eat something healthy, her mind advised. she didn't even have the energy for all that. it was too much. she just wanted to go back to sleep. alas, her sorrows. it was simply the time yet again for this charade of her waking hours before she could settle into her numbing slumber again. tick-tock, her mind mocked.
sliding onto the floor and swaying as she got a grip, she stumbled towards a misplaced chair in her room and grabbed a fluffed-up scarf from on top of it, draping it across her neck with a sigh and wandering steps back to her window. the drapes were opened and promptly closed. gah, those bright lights were blinding. never mind about that. back to her beside. her notebook sat open on her crumped bedsheets, and she picked it up again, tapping the tip of the pen on the page. the flat tip, of course. ink spots and splotches were a bother. what to write, what to write? she lays her head down on the soft edge of her bed, the oh-so-tempting edge of her bed, and lazily props up the notebook to start writing. she manages to jot down a verse in her half-dead state.
7:58 am.
verdant canopies glitter with life,
lilting in the songless melody of the waking breeze
and flourishing into a heavenly swathe of flora once more
with honeyed kisses of nature's awakening and dewdrop gifts
and blessed warmth.
and they live,
yet they are born to die.
a sad fate, but that is all; fruit rots, flowers wither, songbirds decay
and all crumbles. but they care not; they cannot.
a step below or above greater minds?
the sickness starts to settle in. it's a little nausea, accompanied by dizziness, topped off with a stuffed nose and burning eyes. normally it's at least a little milder than the searing soreness sifting through her eyelids and nostrils; maybe she's actually sick this time. well, she's always a little sick, being as unhealthy and exhausted as she is, but she reckons that she has a cold or a virus of some sorts at this point. trip to the doctor?... mm, no. naps and mildly risky games of picking which combinations of medicines to take should do it. could she take a nap right now, though? she was certainly ready for one, a little too ready to collapse and crumble into unconsciousness for as long as she could, but the hot, sickly sensations crawling over her face and skin would probably keep awake. besides, she couldn't sleep. not yet. not yet. not fair.
she should write a bit more. curling up in an awkward position with only half of her body on her bed, she draws one claw across the bedsheets, stumped. where was she again? she had forgotten. already. it was as if she hadn't been holding a pen mere minutes ago. blinking to clear up her misty eyes, she tipped her head, staring at the words she had already written with certain uncertainty. these scrawls were almost foreign to her. how bizarre; it wasn't a rare moment in time, though. she was forgetful, her mishaps ranging from scenes like this to staggering back into her home as she saw smoke clouding the front windows. that one wasn't fun. smoke stung. even just thinking about it made her eyes sting... er, the poem. write, write, write, she urged herself, and she forced one word down onto the paper. from there, she managed to slowly but surely get a bit more down.
it... wasn't that great. maybe she should take a break... how long had she dozed off with open eyes in front of that page?
10:01 am.
alright, alright. she really needed to do something. go somewhere. get out of her darkened room. ... ugh. she didn't want to, but she also wanted to. as much as she wanted to go back to sleep, as much as she wanted to curl up and do nothing but stare at the blank walls for hours upon hours upon hours, she couldn't. no sleep, no inspiration, no laziness for her... alright, she'd still be pretty lazy, but at least she'd leave her room, right? it was a compromise. she had other things she could do instead of playing dead all day... like being a walking zombie. it was time to stop trying to find the positive, encouraging side of this and just get up and go, she reckoned.
the notebook and pen were left sprawled on her bed - oh, how she wished that could be her right now, but no, no -, and amai herself patted her scarf and teetered over to her door. and... she left her room. oh gods above, why must she leave today? she didn't have work, she didn't have a to-do list anywhere in sight, so why, why today of all days must she be plagued with invasions of sickness and unwanted restlessness?... whatever. she was in her kitchen by now. that was quick. her tired little mind couldn't really keep up, but hey, if it made the time until night fly faster, she was all for it. what to do, what to do now...? well, a quick, squint-prompting glance at the clock on the wall of her petite living room beyond told her it was about breakfast time for normal people. hm. what a concept.
she wasn't that hungry, anyways. there were leftover sugar cookies lazily bundled up in a bag somewhere, but she didn't have the energy to look for those or bake anything else just yet. what else...?
12:32 pm.
by Silver Pandorica » Fri May 04, 2018 12:01 pm 
