they call morning the worst part of the day. they are the ones who stagger from bed, huddle over flasks of strong dark coffee and shiver in the cool morning air. they are the ones i used to envy, knowing that they complained about the early hour after a full night of sleep while i tossed and turned, recited multiplication tables and brewed tea that was supposed to promote sleep.
things changed in the third month of insomnia: i would be awake so long that i slept only a few hours, and became bored. soon, i was up so early that it was still dark; a flashlight on my phone was the main thing guiding my morning routine. and eventually, i learned to open the curtains, sit with my hot drink and watch the sky lighten, changing colours slower than a slideshow.
on the fifth month, sunrise became “my” time.