Six sentences for Sunday, July 6th:
Consider the coming awake, no dreams to rise from. What must it have been like, to wake never having woken before? That first light through stuck-shut eyelashes—clear white and sharp, refracting through untested corneas, causing new pupils to contract in milky-blue irises. And the first stuttering breath—lungs balking. The vulnerable ribs, the bones still soft. A body shivering to life.