This will be a process

5 am and I've finally grown tired of the pixelated black grey of a hotel ceiling. I move to the shower for a change of scenery and on the promise I've attached to a spike in body temperature. I rest peacefully there, lights dim and orange, water comfort, hexagon tiles placed neatly side by side and lending order to an otherwise scattershot scene. Sleeplessness is a blessing and a curse. It is the hours late and lonely that will teach you what you're made of. The new awake. I've pushed myself into the arms of the world again, and here I am hung up on it's affect. This will be a process I tell myself. Speak when the words come. Fearing the judgement of a sun now rising could only leave me in the dark.