Dear Morning After

6 Nov

Dear Morning After,

I’m not sure exactly what to say. I was caught up in the excitement last night—it was dark, and the stars were out, there was music playing, and your voice sounded so calm and reassuring. You said all the right things. I didn’t want to stop to think, and even when I paused, I was too overwhelmed with emotion to think about what it meant.

Even now, when I go over what happened in my mind, things seem hazy. When I thought, I don’t know how this is going to work, I don’t know how my Heart(land) and Brain(land) can be reconciled, you said that you heard me. That you were listening. I said, It’s just been so long since I trusted a president, and you said, I will tell the truth. I thought, but we still have so far to go, we still have so much to do, what happens if we can’t do it all? What happens if you can’t live up to every promise?

And I woke up, and I looked at your picture on the front page, and I don’t care what happens next. Because you look like the same person today that you were last night, and the day before that, and that smile on your face is enough to put one on mine. And yes, I am terrified that you will be ineffective, that you will not be able to live up to your promises. You are just a man, just like every other man that has ever walked through this door. Presidents are all just men. Perhaps that’s why I wanted Hillary to win (at least it would be a change of pronoun). So what happens when it’s not the next morning, and the post-election glow wears off, and you go to Washington, and you can’t do everything? I believe you are strong enough to live through it, without a doubt, but am I? Can I go through this heartbreak again?

But somehow, I’m not sure I care. I know you’ve said some vague things, and I have yet to truly get to know you, and I should have asked what hope and change meant, how you intended to back up those sweet nothings. I know that half my family and friends think you’re more liberal, and the other half think you’re more moderate, and I am not sure, exactly, who you are. But none of that matters. Last night when I heard you speak, for the first time in a long time, I thought, I feel safe again.

And damn, you looked good then, and you look good now. So. Favorite meal? Favorite movie? (Because the last guy, I knew it was over when he said peanut butter and jelly and Austin Powers 3. No point in sticking around for the crossword there.) I’m not sure I remember how to do this. But I want to try.

I usually start with the comics, but today I think I’ll start with the front page. I’m feeling brave. How are you feeling this morning, Mr. President-Elect?




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