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Outside Visiting Hours

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By Alyssiaonline

She bought me a bedside lamp to match the rest of my room. White mesh with tiny plastic crystals. When turned on, the lamp spills an oil slick across the ceiling in ink blot symmetry. I can lie there and stare at the distortions of light for a long time.

There is no clock, so it will always be just a long time.

I can pretend the walls are papered with the ghosts of butterflies. I can pretend the roses will not wilt in their vase.

                
Alyssia MacAlister lives in Brighton and writes because she knows no other way of life.

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