The sun woke up tired too. I feel the gloom cast over me and it fits in with the world all too well. Lately, I’ve been thinking about finality. What it’ll feel like. If I’ll be ready for it. Will I call it a tragedy? I hope it feels like sleeping in my childhood bedroom. The house creaking. The smell of my mother’s cooking. My father whistling to an old song that now makes me cry. My sister in the next room. All is well. Everyone is home like they never left. My mind was intertwined with laughter and sunlight. But the world sharpened its fangs and I have the scars to prove it. Now the house is a different color. I heard the old couple next door still live there. When I drive past it I feel like I have one foot in the front door- ready to race through it like it was always mine to hold, but I don’t. It’s someone else’s home now. I swear the air leaves my lungs for a moment. I swear I see lights beyond this world. I swear I taste a bit of finality whenever I go there. -AMT ©️