I don't sleep much, not since the clouds went away. Soon as the sun starts turning up again I'm all awake. The man who made this house, he must've known exactly what he was doing. Putting this window right where he put it. It's by design, I can tell. Nothing this perfect happens accidental. Sun comes up and strikes me in my face, I don't use an alarm. And it's there, and I'm there, and we sit there together for hours. Sun getting higher and higher in the sky as if to say, Get up, get up, I'm here and so are you. I try to glare at it as hard as it glares at me, but no luck. Every morning no luck. And before you bring it up, yes, I've thought about curtains. Thought about putting them up. But even though I hate it so, it seems wrong. Blocking out the light like that.
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