Cleaning the Window Within
The first thing I noticed that morning was how dull the light felt.
It was not the sun. It rose the way it always does, steady and unbothered, brushing the tops of buildings, slipping quietly through the curtains. But something in the room resisted it. Even the familiar looked slightly out of place.
I walked to the window and absentmindedly ran my hand across the glass. A thin film of dust came away on my fingers. I wiped a small circle clear, just enough to see through. The light did not change much. It still felt muted.