Gyenge-Rusz Anett: Every morning

From somewhere far away, I hear a strange noise. I snap out of my dream.
I move.
The sound gets closer. My eyes are closed, my hand moves involuntarily.
I grope with two fingers until they find the sign that says “Switch Off.”
The ringing stops. Success.
The sudden silence tightens my stomach into a knot.
Morning. Again. Morning once more.
I’d try to convince myself otherwise, but I sit up in bed.
It’s dark, yet I see. I know what I need to see.
Slippers at the foot of the bed, glasses on the corner of the desk, robe on the swivel chair.
Every morning, in this order.

I head to the kitchen. My brain also starts working, planning.
A whirlwind of thoughts, bittersweet feelings engulf me.
I brush back the tousled locks on my face in defense.
Upon reaching the kitchen, I switch on the light. Warm LED light.
It illuminates the countertop. My gaze searches for the percolator. And finds it.
I reach for it. The knot in my stomach starts to loosen.
But thoughts don’t slow down; they pour, and I can’t keep up with them.
Wait a moment until I catch up with you!
My hand needs to be fast now. Disassemble, clean, fill, assemble, light, and wait.
And wait. And wait.
Then, accompanied by a soft gurgle, a sip of coffee appears. Its aroma rises.
Through my nose, it creeps into every fold of my brain.
It commands the unruly thoughts to halt.

My mind empties. I’m myself again.
Truly seeing. And paying attention. Only to the coffee maker.
It pours out blackness like a fountain. The awaited sizzle emerges.
Done.
I choose a mug. White with black dots on it.
I sprinkle sugar, two and a half spoonfuls. The crystals tinkle.
Starting with a clean slate.
I slowly release my thoughts. Ahead, the ones promising beauty and goodness. And they trust in me.
I pour milk. As it flows, it’s as if I’m bathing in it. It instills bravery in me.
I’m ready, tasks to be tackled! Bring on the coffee.
It besieges the untouched landscape like dense lava.
It can no longer conquer. It blends the black and white. Mixing, like thoughts.
Good and bad, easy and hard, beautiful and ugly meet.

I take the mug in my hands.
With my right hand, I grasp its cold handle; with my left, I embrace its hot side.
Together, they’re true.
I sit down and gaze into the mug in the morning haze.
The colors have become one. The black and the white.
Holding hands, standing together.
In the mug, in my head. Today and always. Throughout my whole life.
I take a sip. I feel the black and the white permeate. Balancing me.
I drink until it’s warm. I’m fine. I put down the mug. I watch it a bit longer.
Then I get up. I set off for my tasks. The next black and white awaits.
So that tomorrow, morning will begin anew.

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