You want so badly for it to be different this time.
It will be different, you keep saying.
Different different different. Like a mantra.
For one thing, it will be morning. For another, you’re older now.
The longest journey begins with a single step. You saw that once, on a poster at school.
Or maybe it was drops of water turn the mill.
You’re putting it off. You said you want to go, want to finally face it.
You don’t want to go.
You have to go.
Look at you standing there in front of the mirror, practicing what you might say, trying out new words, trying anything.
The sun breaks over the horizon, spills its light over the valley and the town.
It won’t be morning long.
If it’s not morning, it won’t be different. Not as different.
You can’t lose the morning. You mustn’t.
Why are you like this? You ask. It was a tough time. You got through it. You will get through this too.
You are not convinced.
You look at the clock. You look at the mirror.
It’s time to go.