I spend the last few hours of darkness dreaming of a different world. When the sun rises, I dress with care. I twirl my curls round and round an iron, careful that each one is as tightly wound as the next. I repair a tiny chip in my nail polish. I count the lights as I switch them off. I dab a little extra perfume on my wrists.
There are not enough tasks in the quiet hours to make me forget what I'm doing today. Later, there are not enough busy hours to make me forget what I've said goodbye to.
