(Since the Interludes are the only parts of this story that I'll be writing out entirely beforehand, I'm going to be posting the text as well)
I remember sunrise, how it used to be.
I remember my first sunrise with you. First night we spent together. It was like a world broke open and came pouring through. Then when the sun rose it was like it happened all over again.
I felt like it was a gift you gave me. In that moment, I think I started trusting you, because if you made me that happy, it was inconceivable to me that you would ever hurt me.
Yes, I really was that stupid.
I know we didn't have a night together for a while after that. I never told you what I was doing in all those nights without you. At the end of them. It was another one of my secrets. It felt stupid, I was too embarrassed to tell you. Even years later I was too embarrassed, but I don't see a sunrise now without remembering.
How it was.
I stayed up late. I woke up early, into the dark. I burned away my sleep over you, just to see the light cracking the horizon open and the world come pouring through.
It doesn't matter how late I stay up, now. It doesn't matter how early I wake up, either. I'm not even sure I'm sleeping anymore.
There's still light. But it's weak. It's not bright enough to break anything.
I know it's not fair to you. I know it's probably wrong. But I feel like you took those sunrises away from me. You gave one to me, like the first hit of a fucking drug, and that's when they all started slipping into the dark, because after that it was never enough.
And soon, I think, it'll all be over.