The cold light of day

Breathing in the early morning. The freshest of air. Air nobody’s yet breathed. 

Breathing in, my curls bounce over my shoulders. I catch the smell of alcohol and cigarettes escaping my ringlets. 

Did you ever realise that as you breathe deeply your head naturally tips up and you find yourself looking at the sky? 

This morning, it was the most indigo of blue. 

I could hear a soft afterglow of tinnitus, but no birds. No other sound.

And my shoes hang from my fingers. My chipped nail polish bring an awareness of before and after. How pretty they used to be. 

And the memory of my friend running through a Vegas casino in her wedding dress. Shoeless.

I avoid looking at my tired and aching feet. Toes scrunched against the damp and grubby pavement. A coolness crept in.

I’m smiling. Until I turn to look at my house.

In the cold light of day.

I realise that this moment is now a memory. And how precious and glorious that moment was! 

Suddenly, I’m mourning a moment. It’s become a quiet death. An insidious regret. 

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