Even then, there were so many reasons why we stood at the door of the day, uncertain, unwilling, not wanting to face the morning the day had spread out for us. We had seen mornings before and we knew they could hide so much from us. We knew that out there, beyond the door, the day would be waiting for us, waiting to take those dreams we had found and tended through the dark of the night and rip them from us; to leave them dying in the harsh light of the morning while we stood there unable to escape the cold clarity of the daylight.
We wanted to turn, go back to the warm bed, shrug ourselves deep under its protecting blankets, hold each other close and tend our delicate dreams. We wanted to turn our backs on the day, close the door of the morning and hide inside again.
We knew, though, that - one day - the day would – eventually – drag us out of our hiding place and confront us with all we had done during those dark hours of the night, showing us that nothing we do in this world is consequence free and that those dreams we so carefully tended, of us making a new life together, would – one cold bright day – turn into nightmares that would haunt us forever.
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