Twilight

Waking up in the evening twilight

Is like waking up in another dimension where the sun runs backwards. There's an element of fantasy to it that's eerily pleasing to my recent feelings of longing.

In my semi nocturnal state I have become intimate with the two points of twilight in the day. Waking to both regularly, I've become the sunrise's unwilling companion and the dusk's estranged lover.

Begrudgingly, I go along as that ball of fire heats up the hues and the air of the day. I'm too reluctantly awake to appreciate the changing pallet. The harshness of midday drives me to stare up at the sun in appeasement, only to find a blinding beauty, raging with a power I cannot comprehend. And I look away and flirt with the prism-colored, damaged spots on my retinas until they fade. By mid-afternoon I can't take the clear brightness, so I pull the shades down and the sheets up.

As I wake to the sunset, I roll over to see the orange glow through the blinds caressing me softly. Now that he has softened, I can look into his satsuma face without too much fear of permanent sightlessness. And he paints the world in colors you can't appreciate during full light. First colors so warm in pinks and oranges, the clouds look like they're blushing. And then, slowly it cools, to so many shades of blue. And you realize, the night isn't black it's just too many shades of blue layered over one another.

And as night falls and the darkness takes away my ability to appreciate the subtle sapphires and periwinkles, I can concentrate on things that need to be done. But I miss the metamorphic warmth of twilight and wish for someone to wrap their arms around me until morning.