day 93

The face in the mirror looks anything but mortal. His longer dark hair loosely falls over his eyes, giving him the strength of Samson. A thin beard covers his face, just shorter than the patch below his lower lip. He’s part werewolf, without the basketball and lady skills. In his smile, I see her radiance. I see my brother, the hero. My mother’s love. The bus driver’s grin. Zitianos’ endurance. He’s lost weight but energy emanates from his stature nonetheless. He’s part triceratops, without the horns and shield. His brown eyes looks over me approvingly, complimenting my own appearance. We praise and congratulate one another for making to today, hoping there is a tomorrow.

Back in my room, I dress in a t-shirt and pajama pants. The pajamas are a little too short, exposing my ankles. No big deal. I just sleep in them. As I lay in bed, a nearby traffic light beams a sequence of green, yellow, and red lights through the cracks of my blinders. Mixed in with passing headlights, my room is its own light show accompanying the evening score. My eyes slowly shut as I watch the lights dance across the ceiling and wall.