The wave of sunlight crashes onto my eyeballs like they are some tired harbour wall, near collapse from the years of relentless battering by the corrosive salt water. And on the wave of light rides the ships that bring the news that it is yet another day that I don’t want to see. One trawler brings the sound of Mrs Scott’s kettle, whistling in the flat below. Another, the alarm, has its fog horn blaring, warning me of the dangers lurking beneath the waters. I’ve struck those rocks too many times. Crashed in splinters of wood and soul against them. Been trapped between the coming waves of life and the solid cliffs of expectation.
Bed is my only sanctuary. A sheltered bay, protected from the storms of the world. I roll over, hit snooze on the alarm and close my eyes once more. Maybe tomorrow I’ll face the squall.
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