On that day many years ago when the sun appeared over the mountain, when out of the corner of her eye she spied that yellow orb using all it’s might to push away the darkness, to illuminate the unseen and awaken all the beings from their slumber, when she realized that another evening had turned into night, another night had passed and that she had aged, when she swore she could feel another wrinkle form in between her eyebrows, a wrinkle that betrayed her everyday aloofness, an aloofness that in private was smothered by words, shattered by the stories that surrounded her, comforted her, informed her world, a world that seemed so rich but existed only on paper, on that day, many years ago when the sun appeared over the mountain, she felt compelled to watch the day arrive, to welcome it, so she closed the book and turned toward the window, where the sunshine streamed in, warming her face, it was then that she recognized the morning hadn’t arrived alone but with a finality, and she was filled with an understanding that it could be the last time she saw the sunrise, the last time she closed that book, closed any book, closed anything.
Samantha Crane lives in Chicago. She is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Roosevelt University. In her free time she volunteers as a tutor at 826Chi. Her work can be found on Dream Pop Press.