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  • Sasha Uvarova

You're Gonna Love It: 9/21

“Last night I dreamt I was in the place we once were, and my mom fed me ice cream and held my hand. And you were there with us, and I could see you, and you were so real. It was a provocation for sadness.”

The weary morning had beat you violently before you woke up (she took advantage of your vulnerable and unconscious mind), leaving you to start the day sore and grieving. She orchestrates her daily appearance: calls upon the clouds to hover solemnly above your window, illuminates the grass outside to sparkle in the light—though the morning dew is not always as playful as it seems.

Her goal has never been much of anything, but twisting intentions are not to be understood as a lack of them. She watched you dream beyond your intuition and logic and saw you dissipate your reality for the chance to restore your innocence. To fulfill your long-lost, newly renewed wishes. To transcend the confines of what it meant to be younger and to care for someone while also being cared for. She’s there with you, consuming your helplessness like a cruel kind of voyeur, killing time during the night before she starts again. Your uncontrollable swirling pool of your deepest desires and tragedies within your consciousness is the universe’s entertainment.

The morning pulls herself up at the turn of the horizon and hangs just above your eyelids, anticipating the moment they open so she can punch you in the gut with the sound of heavy silence and the sight of dim light. And soon thereafter, you’ll hear the cicadas as they begin to hum, and perhaps the trees will rustle and the clouds will part to offer some sun. The morning will have started, thinking she made her best attempt at cloaking you in understanding, offering support in the way she knows how, so that you can know you have been heard.


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