It's Past Noon. Again.
You missed morning, but did it miss you?
Yunior Rivas
The sunlight is weary, growing bored waiting for you. It drapes itself across the room in disappointed streaks, tired of petitioning your attention.
12:47PM.
It seems the day has pressed on without you, and thinking of going outside feels awkward, like a conversation you’ve joined halfway, unsure of the topic but too ashamed to ask.
There’s a pull on your chest, sharp but familiar. It curls up beside you in bed like a lover you didn’t invite. You told yourself this time will be different.
You’ve made promises before, alarms set like treaties, phone exiled from reach, curtains flung wide as a measure of accountability.
But once again, promises dissolve like morning dew.
As you stare out the window the sunlight has softened spilling gently across the sidewalk. The pull in your chest has loosened to the point of absence.
The world is still there, unchanged, unhurried. It hasn’t left you behind; it hasn’t even noticed.
It’s been waiting for you, not in the way you feared, impatient and frustrated, but in the way a field waits for rain, a sky waits for dusk.
The world, patient and vast, is still there. It’s still here. Take your time.