Sun Worshiper

I have a sunburn. It’s not the kind that warrants an emergency trip to your local Rite-Aid in order to buy aloe, but rather, a sun-kissed glow. A sunburn that leaves the day’s footprint upon your skin, thawing out winter’s last cold breath. I don’t particularly like summer’s heat, but I love how the sun can pattern my skin with freckles and tan-lines, leaving its mark long after the sun dips below the trees and says goodnight.

Maybe I’m being sentimental or thinking about things that are too big for my head (as I often do), but if I can’t ramble on here without feeling like an idiot, then when can I?

I’m sitting in my bed at home, and I keep looking down at my chest, smiling at the sunburn most doctors say I shouldn’t have, and I feel… happy. Whole. As I’m writing this, my boyfriend, who’s currently on the opposite end of the world, should be waking up, waiting to greet the same sun that left me rosy. It’s kind of a reassuring feeling, you know? That there are some things that still keep us connected, aside from the plethora of techno gadgets and whatzits, which I hardly understand how to operate anyway. Still, in a few hours, it will be his turn to say goodbye, and I’ll get my sun back for another day’s worth of skin-soaking… and the cycle continues.

I’m not big on sappy metaphors, but I’m sure most people can empathize. Some ancient cultures worshiped the sun for its continuity, believing that it traversed the Earth in a giant, invisible chariot… watching over its children and kissing their land with light. It’s a romantic notion, and I sort of wish people wouldn’t it throw out as nonsense. 

If you think about it, a sunburn is faith you're lucky enough to wear upon your skin – It could be faith in a deity, or faith in love… but always faith in the same steady orbit that brings us back around for a new day.