Dressed

"I'm so tired playing," she sings. "Playing with this bow and arrow," the stereo belts. "Gonna give my heart away."
I brush my teeth, and rinse for a fresh feeling. I take off my glasses, set them aside.
With my contacts in I shave, then run my fingers along the smooth lines of my face.
Can't be a hot mess.
I exhale, wrestle with creased pants.
I adjust my tie, pulling and pushing it stout around my neck.
The fishbowl bathroom bulbs burn bright and I stare at my features in the mirror.
My left shoulder tingles, twitches, from a workout last night, and I rub it, then put the sport jacket on, button the first, but not the second.
Confidence swells.
This new frame of mine is just fine.
"..." The stereo belts.
I take a look outside, glancing for weather patterns and making my own novice forecast.
No umbrella.
"From this time, unchained, we're all looking at a different picture through this new frame of mineeee," she sings, bass heavy.
For a minute I sway with the music.
I tie my shoes, rub them, brush off a smudge for a cleaner, clearer shine.
In the morning I don't think about all the mess, the dirtiness, the faults, the failures, the causes or the actions, the decisions and the complexities. I inhale, I exhale. And pick up my keys, wallet, phone. And fix my hair one last time.
It's all perfect.
To think that thought seems disgusting. To say that thought out loud sounds even more vial. Nobody likes optimism, especially in the morning. But it's a thought I can't get out of my mind. My heart burns with the thought. My soul flourishes. I grin, or smile, or chuckle, or smirk, or am content with a twitch of my lips, or whatever the method of acknowledging one's contentedness is. And I adjust the cuffs of my sleeves, leaving them a half an inch from my coat, perfect, as I open the door.
"..., ...., ..." The guitar rifts. "This is the beginning of forever and ever."