In my haste to shower,I missed the morning light that fanned out from the blinds and on to the ceiling. I missed the way that each reflected bar subtly curved over the glossy surface of the glass plate up there. By the time I was clean, the light had shifted and changed. Each bar a weak pale white, barely even visible to the naked eye. I sat on the corner of my bed, skin still damp and squinted upwards, trying to make them out.

And the night before, lights from the changing traffic lights fill the raindrops on the windshield with color. From the center seat in the back of a car, I catch them out of the corner of my eye and it's like my own private fire works show.