I am greeted with a song at six in the morning, hugged by the warmth of furry coverings, and kissed by the crisp wind that welcomes itself into my room. I stare at the tools of which I accomplish my daily tasks and find myself musing. Is it like music to Your ears when my hands cover the dough in cream cheese and cut the avocado to remove its seed? Do You hum Your song of redemption when I daily pick up the weights and later sit to weave my words? For once, before the cure came, I would curse the hands He made and starve the hunger pangs. As I ponder what was spent, the girl seems out of reach, for life has colored death and love has entered breath.