Holding on to a Memory of the Sun

The Sun terrorizes our existences, while simultaneously causing our existences. It calms like a mother's cradle and then punishes like hellfire. Nothing in our history, except for love, has been written or sung about more than the Sun. I love the Sun! They're surprised when I say that; because, well, it isn't something to hold an opinion about, it's simply there. But I still love it; not for what it causes or the what it makes us feel, but for the glory it represents. So high up, at a place none of us can ever reach. Bright and burning, forever and ever. Glorious.

My knees complain from climbing the slope as strong winds from the opening above continue to push me back down. My parrot, March, hides in my jacket as he struggles to stay stable against the current too. Thirty minutes to dusk. Thirty minutes to closing of the gates. I want to make it there; I want to see the last sunset. I don't know why it means so much, or why I care about it so much. Why it remains existent in my mind throughout the seasons, until the next winter when the gates open again. I do miss it. I think it's because I never had a mother.

Missing it is a comfortable feeling. I have scary thoughts, dangerous thoughts—but the memories drown out the thoughts. They are calm and warm. I go to sleep at night wrapped around those memories. But missing it is a conflicting feeling. It is a sad blanket that I wear reminding me of everything so far from my reach. All the nice feelings and emotions that I'm forced to distance from, that I'm only allowed to dream about. There is cruelty in this world, keeping hold of the simplest feelings is made so difficult. Rules and structures that we must follow to exist, but what is the point of existence if it isn't warm. I will miss the Sun, because in missing it is where I find life.

On Earth, civilization lives in massive caverns built underground. As is the case of things that attain too much glory, they become tyrants. The Sun, for all of its glorious glory, is our tyrant. It makes our planet so hot that humans cannot stay alive facing its rays. Every winter, the gates to the surface open for a few months and we use that time to gather materials and re-explore what used to be ours. I use this season to sit outside and watch each rising and each setting.

March rushes out of my jacket and soon I see the first glint of light too. The giant ball of gold slowly rising in my vision as I climb to the top. It was still here, in a heat of burning glory, just like it would be for the next season and the next and the next. The gates start to close and my eyes open wide, wider than those oceans of the surface. They try to drink it all in. Sparkling at the sight, as if staring harder would retain the memory longer, as if staring harder would keep it there every time I closed my eyes. I could not look away. It was so beautiful. Everything was so beautiful. The gate was halfway shut. I reached out and tried to capture it in the palm of my small hand, grasping onto nothing but the warmth. The gates slammed to a close, leaving me behind in cold and dark. I really will miss the Sun.