Sunrise Through the Dust

The apartment smells like stale coffee
and regret. Three days unshaven,
two weeks since a real meal.
The dishes are monuments
to my inability to cope.

Outside, the city grumbles awake.
Sirens wail, a distant dog barks,
and the radiator hisses
a mournful song.
It’s a soundtrack to my inertia.

They say time heals all wounds.
They lie.
Time just layers dust
over the raw edges,
leaving them tender
and easily reopened.

I trace the outline of a crack
in the ceiling, a familiar friend.
It mirrors the fault lines
running through my own life.
Divisions, fractures, irreparable.

Remember laughing with her?
That infectious, reckless joy
that could light up a room?
Now, silence echoes where her voice
once danced.

I pull the blinds, expecting grey.
But the sunrise is defiant today.
A blaze of orange and gold
cuts through the grimy window.
Dust motes dance in the light,
shimmering like tiny stars.

It’s unexpected, this beauty.
A slap in the face of my despair.
For a moment, the weight lifts.
Not completely, but enough
to draw a shaky breath.

The light finds its way
into the darkest corners.
It illuminates the mess,
the mistakes,
the broken pieces.

And in that light, I see
not just the wreckage,
but the potential.
The possibility of rebuilding.
The strength that still flickers
beneath the ashes.

Maybe time doesn’t heal,
but maybe it offers perspective.
A different angle.
A chance to see the sunrise,
even through the dust.

Maybe, just maybe,
today won't be so bad.
Maybe today, I'll wash the dishes.
Maybe today, I'll open a window.
Maybe today, I'll breathe a little deeper.

Maybe the sunrise isn't just for the city.
Maybe it's for me too.
A reminder that even after the longest night,
light always returns.
And with it, a chance to begin again.
Even if it's just a tiny, shaky start.
That's enough for today.
That has to be enough.