The sun will be rising soon now, won’t it?

Yes, I think it will. I will watch it from the darkness of my bedroom, much as I do every morning. When, I wonder, was the last time I was able to sleep before light struck the darkness in half? It has been so long. Maybe months.

I watched the sunrise over Montréal just the other day. That was a nice sunrise. I think that I will hang on to that sunrise for a long time. As long as I can, maybe. How long is that?

And now I will watch it yet again, here in this bedroom next to the highway in a place I want to be done with. Far from here — that’s where I’d like to be. Maybe the commonwealth where so much of my little life has sparked and fluttered with pictures that now live inside my brain. Maybe Montréal.

A cat is perched on my windowsill. He knows what is to come. There are maybe eight minutes until the big reveal, but no one will be surprised. I know this cat. He’s a nice little creature (shall I really use “little” to describe him?).

Any moment now. I don’t want to see that sun today. I want to end without light and return without light. It’s unbearable out there once seven-minutes-from-now takes place, all hateful and angry. Heats up the ground and all that. I would be okay if it stayed like this for three months — just blue and black and quiet. I think the cat on my windowsill would appreciate such a thing.

Why am I here? I want to go there.

Wherever that is.

God! Let me go!

What am I still doing here!

I can see it now . . . it’s time to go. I will pull a thick sheet over the glass and shut my eyes tight.