The Glass Cube
Sticky eyes, pricky eyes, “Don’t like the light” eyes
Bones not rested; that bruised back feeling
Knowing that much-needed cup of tea is no longer hot
Seeing the sky is not blue – again…
Hearing her little cough – again…
Trembling after a night of turning right then left then right again with anxiety and worries that don’t make sense.
Searching for positives, for good things, for the real and joyous which always seem so contained within a glass cube; obvious and close, yet somehow not easy to touch.