The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
I’d never felt sadder at the prospect of not being a part of someone else’s story.
The infallible whiteness of the walls, the omnipresent smell of disinfectants, and the fields of artificial grass come back to me. Swimming before me are visions of smiling children and the legions of overworked childcare professionals constantly at their service. Every blink threatens to permanently relocate me to their world of ceaseless laughter.
It’s God’s funny way of reminding me that all that is received is a gift that is broken.
The alarm went off just as the dawn broke through the corner of the indigo shaded curtains; 6:45 AM, 24th October, Saturday. Same as yesterday, the day before that, the entirety of October, call it a few months even.
The lights dim as my will to live brightens. It's Thursday, which means I'll get a good night's sleep.
