Hiralious

I want to escape the gloom of the night, from the memories of the beautiful times and the ghosts that have now been left in place. I want to see the black fade into blue, and the orange to smear the horizon like the saffron between the parted hair of a new bride. I want the sounds of the morning to claim my senses, which have barely been surviving on the sad lullabies of the night stars. I want the trip back into the past with the horn of the school van, the noisy silencer of the milk man's motorcycle, the sound of getting up, of rustling sheets, the incredible relaxation of stretching and the tempting comfort of the final yawn, the indistinct smell of food in the air , the sight of the morning walkers choosing to prolong their lives , or controlling as many variables of it as there are in their hands, the people waking up to a new day at work which they possibly hate, the people fearing for their voices to be drowned by their superiors, the people for whom the corporate culture is like an ill-fitting glove and those who have eased into their roles as if it  was all they meant to do since the first time they were asked what they wanted to be, though they must not have said it, the sight of the first door opening into a deserted office , the first spore of work politics finding its way to the toxic air as one door opens too late, the mother whose motherhood has seeped into her love, life arranging cutlery at the dining table, the father being the love child of his own wife , basking in adoration before pasting a smile on his face for a good part of the day, helping people with their crises of abundance at banks , the children who are too young to know that the hard things in life, like waking up early are among the right things to do, the adolescents taking the liberties of being given direction in life for the last few years without knowing it,  the knocks at the door, the buzz of the morning, the conundrum of the beginning,reassuring me that the cycle of the life that ceased to exist for some hours continues.
It's just some ticks of clocks away.