I pull the curtains over tight so the sticky light will not let in the morning. I miss waking up in Europe with the strange European light coming in pouring in the narrow windows of Dutch Tower houses or busy Berlin apartment streets with kebabs cooking and kids crying the stillness of frosty Dublin suburbs in the winters and the bite of the air on bare cheeks and knuckles and the eerie sound of invisible birds and clock towers belling on Sundays resonating in the crystal air.
And I start thinking about all the things I never did which is sometimes worse than thinking about all the things I have done