Interlude: The Push (text)

August 16, 2017

(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.