Nighttime

A lamp reflection emits a pale glow from my window. At night, the glass does not act in a normal transparent routine. I do not see the world I wish was awake outside. Instead, the window mirrors my light, and signifies my sole proprietorship of the night.

The window's chilly surface pierces my skin with a shivering force when I close the shutters. Colder than my heart when it is empty, colder than my head which throbs with salient memories of childhood fondness. And just think, tomorrow I will stare at the same black pit of glare, save it will resemble a street of soupy concrete, ready for my hand prints and stick-scrawled John Hancock.

-written 3/11/11