Beep. Beep. Beep.

               The alarm on your phone rings in its usual aggressive tone, waking you up from your sleep. You stretch your arm across the bed to turn it off, and the room is silent once more. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, thinking of everything you have to do today. Get dressed, leave the house, go to work, etc. You exhale in an attempt to breathe your worries away, feeling your chest fall, but it doesn’t work. You open your eyes, and you are greeted with the view of the ceiling, grey in the sombre darkness of the early morning. It’s one of those mornings where you feel powerless, as if nothing you do can make a difference, and all you want to do is resign yourself to your cocoon of sheets and fall into a deep, deep sleep. You close your eyes again and take another long breath, in the hopes of mustering up the strength you need to face the challenges of the day. You breathe out, and open your eyes again. The ceiling is still grey.

               You crawl out of bed, mournful for the warmth of your bedsheets. Getting out of bed is harder in the winter months, when the radiator has broken, leaving the house cold, dark and empty. The floorboards are cold to the touch, and you scold yourself for not wearing socks. You drag your feet towards the light switch and flick it upwards, and squint when the light turns on, blinding you for a few short seconds.

               You follow your usual morning routine in dull, tedious silence, feeling the heaviness of your coat as you pull it on and step out into the chilly November air. It’s still dark outside, the moon only beginning to set. It’s eerily quiet in the cul-de-sac, so you stick your hands in your pockets and wrap one around your keys, holding the sharpest one between your middle and ring finger. You walk around the corner, making your way to the train station. You step on soggy leaves that have no satisfying crunching sound. The air is cold. It bites into your skin. It smells like snow, even though there’s none around.

               You step onto the train, and immediately regret your three layers of clothing. It’s always so hot on the train. You take your hat off, and loosen the grip of your scarf, so that there is one less thing suffocating you. You can feel the weight of your folders in your bag, so you lean against the wall of the carriage in the fruitless effort of relieving the pain. Your eyes are heavy and tired, and you think about buying another coffee.

               You step off the train and are the last person to leave the station. You make your way to work, going about the usual path. You walk with your head down as you cross the lights that never work in tandem and always cause you problems. You take slow steps, still asleep. Then, the grey footpath begins to turn yellow, and you look up to see the sun rising behind the park, causing the trees to look black in contrast with the vibrant pinks, blues and golds of the rising sun. You stop in your tracks and just stare at it for a moment. You’re about to take out your phone to take a picture, but you decide against it, and you feel it drop again into your pocket. You watch the sunrise slowly, casting its golden light onto the grey city around you, onto the grey people who live in the humdrum of their routine without protest. You breathe in slowly, closing your eyes and letting the sun sink into your skin and warm your face. You let it out, your breath forming white clouds of vapour that quickly fade away. You open your eyes and look out towards the sun again. Your lips curl up in a small smile that reaches your eyes, and you resume your journey to work, but you take a different turn that will make your journey longer.

               Hope is the sun rising on a cold November morning, flickering with the promise of something new and good to come.

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