When I was younger, I had a smaller bedroom. It had one wide window that faced a brick wall, but even then, I still made sure to draw the blinds at night and open them in the day. After moving into a bigger room, the blinds were always kept shut, and only these pieces of the sun came through.
If at night, before I slept, I forgot to flick my blinds tight, I’d see these strips of sun in the morning. I loved to open my blinds fully and watch them expand around the room.
This was actually a sight I hadn’t seen before. The sun had never been able to reflect off the wood onto the wall since my room had never been bare enough. But, I felt it were something I wanted to cast on my piece. A rare sight made possible only by a room and a house that shouldn’t have been empty. The sun made the room feel warm a last time, so warm I had fallen asleep on the floor, taking a last nap in the house the way I did when I was younger.
The basement was unfinished. It was once a place I’d spend my whole day with my sister, playing with our toys. Then it became a place that felt too dark and scary to enter, strictly for storage and rummaging. Then it was empty. On this last day, it felt bright. I felt like I could stay in this room, it was safe to play here.
