It had been fifteen years since the sun had last risen. Luckily for me, my mother had always emphasized the importance of a carrot-filled diet to see better at night. That, plus by now, my eyes had adjusted. Mostly. What hadn’t adjusted during this excruciating period of life was my mind. Everywhere I looked, everything I saw was dull and lifeless. As if the entire world had been bleached from countless hours of sitting in direct sunlight. I half scoff and half chuckle to myself at the irony. I miss the old vivacious world and how it had once been illuminated by the sun’s warm embrace.

I shiver back to the cold reality of today. Days of the week don’t really matter anymore, but the traffic on the interstate makes this Friday unmistakable. Anxious to fill my time with something, anything, I draw the thermos patiently waiting in my cup holder to my mouth for a sip.

FUCK! It must be a thousand degrees!

The inside of my windshield now looks like the aftermath of a brown-tinted light drizzle. These damn thermos work too well, and I make mental note to order a cheaper, and therefore surely less effective thermos from Amazon later. Is it too much to ask to be able to drink a cup of coffee without personal injury during my morning commute? It doesn’t feel like it should be, but nowadays nothing feels right.

I grab some napkins from my glovebox and attempt to rectify the spat coffee, but with each wipe I find I’m just making matters worse. And just like that, I’m past the point of control. I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks and choose to ignore the inevitable consequences to my freshly done makeup.

I can’t believe it’s been fifteen years since I’ve hugged you. Since we laughed together. Since I heard your voice. Since you knew the right thing to say to turn a bad day to a good one. I need that today. I need you today. I need my sun.

I dry my tears with a glovebox napkin and refocus on the road ahead. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. An uncontrollable sigh forces its way into the mix. I wonder if it will take the next fifteen years for my mind to adjust to the darkness. I don’t know if I’m secretly craving it as some sort of reprieve or if the thought of adjusting brings me an overwhelming sense of sadness. I shrug, and consider that maybe the answer is both?

The cars ahead of me start to pick up pace and I follow suit. I suppose for now I’ll just keep driving.