UNTITLED

It was like that bright white window. Every morning the light coming from the window would blind her, and make her put a pillow on her face.

Every ray of light created a sensation in her.

Her eyes would hurt.

Her feet would feel the calm cold air.

Her palms would get stuck in between the pillows.

Her heart would be full.

It was like that bright white window. Every morning she would search in the opposite side of the bed for some comfort. She would bring her legs close to her chest and feel every muscle stretching.

The bright white window was like an anxious canvas, so white and patiently waiting for action. The bright white window would act emotively on her.

Transcendental in size. It was a transcendental experience every sunrise.

Even when she had her eyes closed she would still see remnants of the window’s shape. That brightness had a power over her and the entire room, and some mornings would evoke joy and other days evoke sadness.

Some mornings were grey and some were blue.

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