Blinds

It is either day or night. It is hard to tell. Behind the blinds, nothing but a reflection of myself cares enough to form a shape. The sun is either going up or going down. The physical reality has always been deceptive. I close the blinds. 

 

It is either day or night. Or sometime in between. Waking up at this hour, I try to stare myself back into sleep. After a while, I start to feel the whiteness of my face. Too bright, I close my eyes. Somewhere between that moment of transition, somewhere between black and white, I miss you.

 

Somewhere only we know, I am awake and I know you are too. I want to write you a letter, pour you a cup of sleepless thoughts.  But all my fingers have gone backwards and all my cups have broken. Everything seems too bright here, I can’t seem to think, I cant seem to write; I cant even drink. My lips are chapped and faded, with agony. I just lay there, silently.

 

Outside, it is either day or night. It is now not hard to tell. Colors start to emerge and living beings start to stir. Behind these blinds, I will just miss you. Today, I will just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way.