The Sunshine in Our Silence

It was easy to trip over the sunshine. The blinds as open as they were. Like rouge toenails left to wallow in the fresh laminate. It's always habit. Until it's vice.

In the obstacle course from which we reference our affections there are only buttons. Coming undone. Hope's arthritic fingers struggling with that stiff spot near the collar.

Necks exposed to broken the zippers. That wear us when we're too young. To count. How many windows are required.

To see. What isn't there.

It was early. Too early to wake up. When the bed shook us out like so much dandruff.

I couldn't have been more ready to lose. Or more unprepared to win.

Whatever it was that might've been the prize.