Inside Looking Out

I captured this image sometime last week. The view it so proudly displays always meant that I was standing at the brink of a brand new day. I loved it. I loved the feeling it brought me. What a greeting. What a way to kick off the day.

I am, by nature, not a morning person but this made the early dawns so much more bearable. I'd say that it was arguably my favourite part of the morning. Yes, arguably. But only because there was another scenic beauty that brightened my every day.


But now, this very same image makes my heart ache. When just days before, I was deeply enthralled by the glorious daylight that shone beyond the shade of the walls, today, it tells me that no matter how much I love the view that lies no more than a hundred steps before me, I'm still standing in the shade. I'm already so close to whatever that lies beyond. So close that I can already feel the warmth of the morning sun radiating off the concrete. I see it. But I can't seem to reach it.


So there I stood, a scared twenty-something year old desperately clinging on to her camera phone hoping that the sun doesn't go down on her, but is already fully covered and darkened by the shadows that seem to grow from the looming walls on either side of her.


Perspective is such a scary thing. It determines everything. And when it flips, everything else flips. These days, I can't say that I feel joy when I walk past these walls that stand between me and both sides of ground just 8 storeys below. I barely even see them.

For there is no sun. Only shadows.