Closure

Sometimes the sunrise is far better than a sunset.

The hallway is empty. Faint light seeps out from under closed doors. The entire house smells like damp clothes. You look down at your shoes, faded now, not quite as black as they used to be and you wonder where you've been. The hallway is quiet. You can hear the paper burn from the edge of your cigarette. You inhale deeply and wonder how you look illuminated by the orange glow. The whites of your eyes aren't quite as white as they used to be. They are mostly red now, you can feel it. When you close your eyes, it burns. You close them, just for a moment and wonder what time it is, as though it makes a difference, as though a clock provides some direction. Clocks, compasses, high tech GPS navigation systems, none of them could have told you where to go, or when. You lean back against the wall, feel its cold dampness through your shirt and wonder how you got here.

Everyone else is away, or asleep. Not you. You live for these hours, the times in between, when the whole universe is quiet, peaceful, and the stars bat their eyes at you. The world moves through daylight while you sleep. You imagine you aren't missing much. The smell of traffic, the din of a world running aimless, the sun glaring off of windows, seems to some necessary but nonetheless you find it all so unappealing. This time is your time, the time when nothing moves, the time of the dreaming. You stamp out your smoke and wonder where the time goes. You open the door, kick off your shoes and turn out the light. Flat on your back you lie in bed, staring skyward or ceiling ward anyway. Caffeine races though the veins on the side of your head, keeping you in a state of semi-consciousness. The sun begins to peek through the blinds. You curse that last cup of tea and wonder why you do this to yourself. Why all this struggling? You spend these hours pondering the unanswerable, grasping at infinity, clawing your way toward pseudo-solutions to pseudo-problems. The room gets brighter as your eyelids weigh down to slits. You fight the veil of sleep with your questions, the ones without answers, and it's like a bell going off in your head. The pieces start to fall into place. Connections take hold, reasons string together. A little while longer and it will all be clear, but sleep is a vindictive beast,
and you drift,
slowly,
into
its
arms
and
away
.

Reviews

[Renee Zepeda]

Awesome, liked it a lot....thanks for sharing it.