Awake
A prose poem
The timid glow of the dawn gently brushes off the ashes of yesterday’s not-enoughs. Restoring sanity, my cortex filters the remnants of the closed-eye psychedelic madness. Those quirky, patchy stories get substituted with the matter-of-fact images of the usual simulation. Relief. And a bit of regret? A quiet nostalgia for the parallel life ungrasped. Barely touched.
The sun–a narcissist, without doubt–grabs my glance, demands to leave every thought behind. No way to appease it either. If I stared for too long, I’d go blind and deprive the centre of its craved attention. Existential contradictions at daybreak… I learn to take it slow and forgo pleasing the whole world.
The morning swells; the frenzy intensifies. Lumen-obsessed, the light threatens my retina, commands me to get inside and live the day, the life. I obey with no objections. I know how to merge with the shadow. The guilty pleasures of darkness… To hide. To be… real, raw, naked.
I keep my clothes and skin on. About to dive into the macrocosm, I save others from too much exposure. Navigating the day’s fragments, I find the islands of solitude in the middle of crowds… To indulge in my mind’s shine and shade. To replay the early insights. And smile.
© Masha Zubareva 2024
My sincere gratitude to Alethiology and its editors for welcoming me to this space!
