a.funnytimeofyear.com

I lay on the warm, pure white duvet, my cold body defrosting by the heated beams of light that refract through the thick windows that separate me from the outside world. Every morning I wake up to the slit of sunlight that slices through the fractional gap in my curtains. It soars across the room splicing the debris on the messy floor, until I give in to daylight and carefully open my broken curtains, welcoming the light of day. Some days it takes me hours until I muster the energy to bring in the light; I sit in the darkness listening to music, the television on mute and the glare of the computer monitor staring at me from across the room. Most mornings I sit on the chilled window-sill in my underwear, early, before the rest of the world wakes up. At 5am I stare across to the church and promise that one day I will go to pray, but each day it escapes me, and my list of unmanageable tasks becomes longer and further unfathomable. My body is restless and I perch myself onto the covered toilet seat, the shower running, with the hot droplets bouncing from the grey tiles onto the veins that run smoothly under my skin.

Today I lay in the glowing whiteness of the sun, stroking my collarbones in the dayglow bleach. My collarbones are thick and I grapple them, tugging them, seeing how far I could go before they snap. They’re the favourite part of my body and in the cold air, I felt goosebumps raise over them from the breeze, but the warmth of the sun soon calmed my skin. I saw the moon appear over the clouds, a three-quarter grey biscuit in the sky, soaring over streaks of flat, translucent grey on the sunny backdrop of a highly missed blue canvas.

(edit: these images look better larger, so click the first one for a bigger view.)