Morning.

My hair is tousled and bent waves from having slept on it when it was wet. It falls to my shoulders. I've been sleeping well and I look it, no bags under my eyes. My cotton pajama bottoms sit a little high on my hips because they have an elastic waist. I pull them down a little and can feel my hip bone. I've lost a little weight. My long-sleeved cotton t-shirt is kind of klingy. It's white. Looking in the mirror, I admire my breasts, their fullness and roundness. My nipples are hard. They look perfect. How often do I think that? Hardly ever. Maybe only in the freshness of the morning, when my mind is clearing from its innocent dreams and not yet consumed by self. My skin feels softer. I look younger. I don't have a costume for the day yet (mother, wife) and I'm just myself, looking. This unabashed moment won't last. At least it's here for now, fleeting as it is.