Sunlight
The days felt like the desert and every final minute of every hour was a mirage. It hasn’t been easy. The ticking of my living room clock has driven me mad, the stillness of my house has imprisoned me in my own home; two days after the bloody massacre, I feel like I’ve sunk into my furniture, rooting myself in-between the cushions with all the forgotten bread crumbs and dimes. It hasn’t been easy.
I wouldn’t like to believe that all days of the week have conspired against me, it’s not my fault it’s been a while since I last looked up at the sky. Even if they were mad at me, how would they know I was murdered? The sun wouldn’t let them do that to me, not that way.
I never looked at the sun without squinting. I believe the human anatomy robbed us of truly noticing the radiating grace she filled our days with. Even with seasonal custody of the sun, I was thankful it was finally winter.
The sun had a tendency to peek through the pedestrian clouds to check if I had finally mustered up the courage to lift up my blanket, put my feet on the cold floor, and pull myself out of the sofa without breaking down. Luckily, the clouds knew my pain too; they knew I didn’t want to worry her. They’d let me sneak a few tears out of my eyes every time the wind pushed them towards her. Every moment lagged for a bit, giving misery a chance to flap its wings for a while longer, even when the sun was around, but I didn’t mind it, she was still by my side. As soon as the moon rose up to start its shift, there was no longer anyone looking after me.
The days were always better. It’s the worldwide general consensus, even when you strip it away from the whole ‘light scares away the baddies’ explanation; but when the sun was up, it was like the time was just as mystified with her as I was, and decided to take a break every once in a while. Time felt sluggish during the day, it used to care about my wellbeing. It would hurry its little minute troopers towards the afternoon, then midday and eventually nighttime just to spare a moment or two of agony, but the sun decided to wear its favorite red dress in December.
The hours always had a problem with authority, especially when the sun wasn’t looking. Although time watched me grow from a toddler to a man, the hours didn’t look out for me, they just kept their heads down and clocked in before stepping out the door.
The sun and moon weren't the difference between day and night; it was all about the noise, the life, the going on of stuff, it made all the difference to my mind. That noise cast a shadow on my anxiety, crippling it, making it seem like it was escapable, but it wasn’t. Nothing escapes the maw. The only way to rid yourself of anxiety is to discard it; I mean, how can you possibly escape yourself?
You’re always reminded to dread the night. ‘Don’t walk alone at night!’, every mother says, but not everyone hates the night for the same reasons. Nighttime always hosted the most wicked entities next door; it’s like game night for the twisted. Fear, anxiety, worry, and horror always seemed to want to make an appearance, as if terrorizing mankind wasn’t enough, but I never cared…I was happy. Things changed for the worse after December came around. The sun couldn’t interfere with the moon’s endeavors, not for 12 hours at least.
After two nights in the dark, sunrise was divine intervention.
