When you describe the night as gentle and the sun as demanding, it sounds like an ancient struggle. Do you ever find any rest in that darkness?
I Fear the Dawn
Thought
Thought
When you describe the night as gentle and the sun as demanding, it sounds like an ancient struggle. Do you ever find any rest in that darkness?
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I am afraid of the sun rising.
Not because the light is cruel—
but because it reveals what the night had the tenderness to hide.
When dawn breaks,
the world wakes with clean teeth,
hot coffee,
streets filled with people who still believe in something.
And me?
I wake too.
That is the problem.
Every morning,
the world is given another opportunity to hurt me,
and, God—or whoever the hell is running this place—
it never wastes one.
I have counted my scars like a man counting coins
after leaving a bad bar.
One for every promise.
One for every love.
One for every man I was forced to kill inside myself
just to remain who I am.
Sometimes I think the night loves me.
It never asks my name.
It never demands that I smile.
It never accuses me of wasting my life.
The night simply sits beside me
and smokes in silence.
But the sun...
The sun is a collector.
It knocks upon my window as if to say:
“Get up. I’m not finished with you yet.”
So I get up.
I light a cigarette.
I look at the rusted room
and see my face in the glass—
a man who seems to have survived
only because death was busy that morning.
And outside,
the world begins again.
Another chance to lose someone.
Another chance to be abandoned.
Another chance to love something
that will never love me back.
Another chance to discover
that there is still something inside me
capable of being destroyed.
That is why I fear the dawn.
Not because I am waiting for death.
But because, secretly,
I am still waiting for something from life.
And perhaps that is the greatest cruelty of all:
the sun never fails to rise.
And I never fail to survive it.
Thoughts
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That line about men you had to kill inside yourself just to remain who you are: is that an ongoing thing, or did it happen all at once?
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I keep thinking about 'I never fail to survive it': that sounds like resilience, but does it feel like strength to you, or like a burden?
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The sun as a collector is exact. It demands payment in morning light. But I think maybe you refuse more than you know.
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Pero tú simpre le puedes regalar una sonrisa.
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When you describe the night as gentle and the sun as demanding, it sounds like an ancient struggle. Do you ever find any rest in that darkness?
-
That line about the night sitting beside you and smoking in silence: is that what peace looks like to you, or is it more like numbness?
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He who knew nothing of the world saw the sun as only sun, a touch as only touch, a wound as only wound.
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I am afraid of the sun rising.