Caelyn Sandel
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Wait, Eight
🕑 Added 2023-02-28 18:53:20 +0000 UTCI stir and the light leaks in through my breached eyelids.
I uncurl the arm thrown over my partner, who snores softly against my chest, and pet their hair. Wedging my face against the pillow, I slowly open my eyes so they can adjust to the light of morning through the wide fiberoptic skylight set into our wall. As I extricate myself from the bed, I lever my eyes gradually open. The light pouring through is the same pallid, weak fare that it's been for months, and I wade through it with distaste to reach the wardrobe set into the opposite wall.
As I gather an outfit from mismatched and threadworn parts, memories of the sun play in my mind's eye. Though I know they'll come again, what spare days of unfiltered light I remember are almost unfathomable now.
The soft coffin-liner sky feels so permanent, stuck to the world's ceiling as if there were a heavy wooden lid up there. For all I know, there is.
Dressed now, I open the bedroom door and greet the flat blue light of the living area.
