sunrise

The sun arrives this morning reminding you of this broken part of your circuitry. Yesterday it didn't come out and you felt, on a level below your conscious mind, that it was gone for good and you were bereft even though you understood it was only obscured by clouds. The abandoned you still lives unhealed apparently. 

This sun, this morning, is like you standing at the foot of my bed at 3 AM so long ago. I cannot be certain of you, but I am relieved and revived for now. 

That slow motion roller coaster between high peaks of union and deep valleys of desolation. You always disembark that ride alone into an empty amusement park. Everything seen hurts. Everything remembered echoes. 

I love you, you say. With all that that entails to whomever it may concern. Trash rolls along the ground in the wind. Painted on the front of the Fun House is a sinister clown's face laughing. 

At moments like this your unfortunate physiology works against you. You're a sort of inverse porcupine. When threatened, your needle-sharp quills are aroused and thrust inward.