Sometimes, late at night, I would lie awake and wish for a blue sunrise.
It was a backwards start to the day and that somehow felt right for me. Nothing in here was ever really straight laced or tidy, so why would that start of anything be different?
This kind of sunrise felt like an empty chalkboard, a very forgiving reprisal of last evening's regrets. And I was okay with that. It was as if I was reminded of my transgressions yet invited to change all at the same time. But the window in between me and that invitation was something else. It made me want to stay put and leave all at the same time.
Maybe a blue sunrise was just that--blue, murky, baffling with intent and purpose on those in its horizon.
Maybe it was the stronghold I feared it was. It was a somber strangling of my conscience.
And I was just its enemy. And he mine.
And nothing more.
Certainly not before this all comes up.
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