The Hour Light Spreads
Five in the morning, I look out at a window where the dark hasn't yet lifted. The world is asleep, and that I alone am awake like this feels strangely unstrange. The light seeping through the curtains lies long across the floor. Last night's heavy thoughts thin out little by little along that light. Nothing has been resolved, but the mere fact that time is passing makes this bearable for now. There are times when being alone isn't lonely. In this moment where even my breathing is quiet, a night when the single fact that I am here feels like enough. Morning is coming. I haven't drawn the curtains yet. I'm waiting for the light to spread on its own.
At the dawn market, the windows of shops not yet lit are wet with a deep blue. My reflection in that glass looked like an old photograph, and I stood there a long while.