February Inspired Writing Contest Winner

February Inspired Writing Contest Winner

Day and Night

The blackout shades made waking up a rebirth. We did not know it was day until they opened, a tiny sliver of light coming through and then life– bright and shining, me and you. At least when we went out.

If it was dark or rainy, we would close them again and go back to bed, soaking in the blue light of our devices. Tell me about that thing you read. Make a plan for the brighter day.

At night, we did not have to consider sunlight. Artificial light was all we needed. From our phones, your headlights, candlelight, or the lights coming off of stages as DJs hit their beats.

Remember when we met. I kept going to the bathroom, and you saw me when I moved. You said, hey, maybe that one. I was only thinking of my bladder.

When I sat back down, you found me. Me, on the cushioned bench. You, on its concrete arm. Sipping your drink while I sipped mine. You said hey, and we talked. You offered me another. Later, after an invitation, we kissed.

My friend left, and I left with you. We had dinner, it was late, and you slept in my bed. The next day the sun came through the blinds. You were a comfort in my arms.

That evening, we made plans to see a movie. I bought your tickets at the kiosk and your drink at the restaurant bar. Later, you tell me you weren’t going to show, but I sent a photo of your martini: dirty and dry.

When you get there I tell you that I hate olives, but you ask me to take a sip anyway, and I do. I make a face found on lime green stickers mothers put on bleach and Lysol. You tell me with sadness where your mother is now.

I can’t remember what happened after the movie. We probably went somewhere else. Another bar or dinner. We had only just met the night before. There was no pressure to be creative, only to know one another better than the last time.

We know more now. Every day. When we open the shades to see the world we share. How it comes to us, how we hold different pieces now, and now, we wonder, how we held those pieces when it was only one of us before, day and night.

Presley Darnell is a writer and teacher in Houston Texas. All of these things coalesce to make him an honest man, fiction notwithstanding.

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