Hiding from the Sun

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Her eyes were not used to the light.

It was difficult to look at the world.

It hurt.

She was constantly blinking,

peering,

squinting,

only able to see the world halfway.

She felt like her eyes were always about to collapse,

they seemed to provide less protection than normal eyes.

She cringed at the sun,

the golden rays that seared the balls of her eyes,

stabbed,

prodded,

and burned.

She loathed the summer.

The glaring, fluorescent blue skies,

and endless blood-orange sunsets.

In the summer even the nights seemed too bright.

She wished she could hide until winter,

where the skies were gun greys

and soft purples and lavenders

or in her sleep where everything was a muted pearl blue,

in dreams where stars were fatter,

bloated with dust,

where she could hide from the sun.

 

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3 thoughts on “Hiding from the Sun

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