Style.Self.Sundays

16 July 2017

Gentle mornings.

 Gentle mornings.

Her body swayed, while she danced, as a plant sways in the water. - The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890), Oscar Wilde 

It’s the early hours of the morning. The sun is barely a whisper. The rays gently warm my face and kisses my cheek good morning. My eyes flutter open. My hair is a mess. My head slowly lifts as my eyes roam the room for an indication of time. It’s 6:27 a.m. and I’m not sure why I’m awake, but it doesn’t seem to bother me. I rolled over to my side hyper aware that there isn’t a layer between my skin and the sheets. I feel peace. I feel the love I have for myself intensify as a small smile creeps onto my face. Sleepiness is still painted on my features as I breathe in and exhale. I feel like a work of art. It’s as if Botticelli painted me himself, but I’m still tired. The gentleness of the morning and the harshness of the sun rays causes my eyes to flutter and shut. Many moments pass before sleepiness conquers my being. The new dreams I have are about me and the sun being one. There isn’t much of a difference anymore.

An hour later, the sun danced in the sky. My body rejected the idea of more sleep. After heading straight to the showers, the coffee maker was turned on and coffee started to brew. Lana Del Rey played unapologetically in my ears as I made my coffee just right. My laptop was soon in arms reach as I fired it up. It’s that time of the week again. Sunday! How am I feeling? Gentle. What do I want to say? Be gentle. How? Write as if I’m writing a novel.

As Lana played and I typed away, the melody began to take control of my body. I twirled as if I was a ballerina. I danced so freely. No one is watching. How could I not? My giggles could be heard through my bedroom door as I went back to writing this or what was originally supposed to be this. I’ve never felt emotions this way. This morning is so tender. It’s touch so gentle.

Thinking about gentleness and how I am now got me thinking of the old me. That girl feels like ancient history though she is a recent ex. In the beginning, being gentle with myself was hard. I couldn’t give myself praises. Every mistake was another reason to tear myself apart. When I think of being gentle, I think of how kind a person is to themselves. Things have changed. I like to shower myself with love and compliments. “I look wonderful today.” “Self, you’re amazing.” “Excellent job today, Darianne.” I like to log out of life sometimes and enjoy my own company. Headphones in. World out.

My body has been intoxicated by the music playing in my bedroom. I’m under the influence now. How did I get to this state? Well, yesterday I had a “f*ck it” attitude about everything. It was mostly because this past week was just filled with anxiety. I had almost reached my limit and cried. It was only hump day when I found my journal after months of not using it.  I wrote and I wrote. It felt invigorating, but it wasn’t enough. Then today arrived.

It’s Sunday. I’m just about done. The gentleness that is Sunday morning has conquered all that I am. I’m mellow. I’m happy in this moment. I want to shout it to the world. Maybe I’ll whisper it to the summer breeze. Maybe the summer breeze will deliver my message to you. Maybe you’ll get it today. Maybe you’ll get it tomorrow or a week from now. I only ask this of you:

Please be gentle with yourself. 

All the love as always.

Darianne ♥

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