Magic is what happens when the sun rises,

When the cold starts to slip away and the blankets are turned down

When the birds yell and the coffee brews.

It’s the calm,

the magic before the illusion is shattered.

Before the heat turns hot, the blankets crumple and the coffee burns

Before it’s not the birds yelling.

Before the day really starts

And it’s not magic at all, it just is.

It’s just life. Magic gone.

Mundane.

Boring

Abusive

Just life, just the day.

It’s noon and the magic is gone

Burning away

Gone as the sun sets,

Now it’s dark, the birds quiet,

the house

Silent

It’s dark and you can’t stop it

Not now, not here

But there’s no point

There’s no magic, not until the morning

Because this is what happens at night

And this is how the sun becomes magic