A sliver of light shines through my almost cracked eyelids,
Darl, light, dark, light,
The ceiling fan quietly pulses.
Eyes wide open, I realize I am in the opening scene of today’s screenplay.
Cut to close-up of my chipped blue coffe mug,
Steam rising, swirling, fading into the morning kitchen air.
Swirling, fading, swirling, fading,
Today’s narrative arc.