When better than a sunrise?

I also read this aloud, if you'd like to listen to that. I recommend reading it yourself first to see how you interpret it though.

Sat slumped, back curled on
curtain tails.
Glass stained with
the pitter patter of
a night unslept.
Dew drips from window and down each cheek.

Every week spent
waiting for that wake-up, glancing at
eyes dancing in the sunrise.
Every day spent peering
at a fish hook, the
curl of lips
cast across her face,
held tight with bated breath.
Every minute spent here, by the wall
and the window,
unravelling thoughts of a life unlived and tying them
to the rafter.

You'd go back for mere seconds.

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