Infinity Morning

 

Someday, after a long night's fitful, tossing and turning, of trying to get comfortable, but only for a moment, of waiting for the inevitable dreadful grey light through the window shade--I will awaken to infinity's dawn.

It will be a day of endless possibility, for all the clocks will be broken, and time will stand still. Birds will sing, but not so loudly as to disturb this perfect moment. 

The magical smell of pancakes will permeate my olfactory glands, wafting in from a place where breakfast awaits me. Golden rays of sunlight will beam their good intentions across my face, and I'll smile for the hope of a new day.

I'll see you and you'll smile and ask, "What do you want to do today?"

We'll walk out the front door together into the vibrant forever green of a spring morning that stretches into infinity. We'll be who we are, but not who we were, for all those things were just fragments of dreams we won't remember. 

We'll shine and sparkle with the sun, never growing tired or weary, for those ideas won't exist. With the boundless exuberance of children, we'll walk, bounce and fly from one adventure to the next, always arriving home in time for lunch.

This is the day that never ends, because it never begins. It's the day my eyes won't open anymore in this world and my body will stay on the couch, lifeless. I won't need it, I'll have a new one. 

This world and its cares will go on, and my body will eventually be discovered and disposed of. Possessions will be sold, and new people will move in. As calendar pages turn, all kinds of things I never intended will be done with my house and things, and I won't care. 

There will be a slow dissolve from my previous life's dream to my awakening into my new reality, and thoughts of my past life, with all its trouble, will fade.

It is coming. I may as well imagine a good version of it. If hell is created by thought, then perhaps heaven is, too.