The light from the sun
It wakes me up, but I’m stiff
I don’t want to move
As the days go by it gets harder
for me to leave my bed. I want to stay in my warm blanket, whether it’s cold or
hot. Especially on warm days, I find the sky as blue as I am. However I must
move, for I have things to do. Beyond this room are buoyant voices that dance
amongst the yellow and red leaves, which fly against the stale wind. Appealing
music that is now prosaic, and a constant reminder of a lost nostalgia. The
mothers and friends are all smiling, but it’s not a reflection of myself. The
longer I am away from my bed, the sooner I want to go back into it. So
I run back into the soft cave, and think of the leaves, the music, and the
faces. The beauty beyond this bed waits to be found, but I don’t have a map to
find them. I lay in my bed, and I feel stiff. I don’t want to move, but I must.
I must move to find the map of what lies beyond this bed.
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