I was standing there gazing adoringly out the front door, past the porch and into the morning.. watching the sunrise, as I'm prone to doing whenever possible. I was standing there, just admiring the orange'y pink glow.. when an old red car drove past on the highway, which until that point had been quite desolate. You see, I live in a neat little location on the edge of town, but still far enough out that every window I look through has some sort of glorious plant life in view.

When I saw the car drive by, I said "Slow down, you're missing it..", and imagined what a conversation with the driver would have been like if he had possibly heard me. (I'm not sure why, but I assumed the driver was male, though I couldn't be sure..)

"Missing what?", he'd ask, probably in an almost annoyed tone, depending on his state of mind at the time.

"The morning..", I'd say in a somewhat "lost in thought", dreamy sort of voice.

"Nothing I haven't seen before", he'd mutter as he drove off, tainting the beauty of the morning with exhaust.

"But you might never see it again..", I'd whisper, because it's true..

And he'd still look at the sunrise and the glistening dew a little differently, driving much more slowly, because I'd reminded him to.. even if he acted so unconcerned in the moment we exchanged words. I forget sometimes, too, that everything being slowly bathed in the sun's glow can look so achingly beautiful after a long night of sleepless thought.
I am afraid that if I could somehow find a way to explain to these people exactly what they are missing, I would lose some of the beauty found in loving the unloved.

I find that I am prone to losing a moment if I try to share it too much, especially to people who won't really listen anyway. That's why I like to write the moment; it cannot be lost, the beauty remains intact, and nobody has to keep reading.

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