Preface: I have grown to love mornings, and breakfast, and coffee. Even the sunrise, if I'm up early enough to see it, and these days I often am. But apparently I hated them 10 years ago. Here's something I must have written one miserable morning:
https://pixabay.com/en/landscape-reflection-water-forest-1802337/
Set the Sun Down
I hate mornings. They have nothing in common with the night. There’s serenity in night’s darkness. I long for the calmness of the cold, black sky and the graceful, pale moon. The night favors the dead. She carries the dead’s whispers in the winds, shrouding the Earth in wisdom. Mornings favor the living, but I’ve always hated mornings. I hate the violent exit of dreams and the sobering entrance of reality. I despise the sunlight against my weary eyes, and most of all, I hate the energy that the mornings bring.
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Wow. I find it amazing that I wrote this during one of the happiest periods of my life. I guess all the fun happened at night back then.