I walked out from under the overhang of my wooden roof, looking to the sky in front of me. The sun was just about rising, its beams reaching out to the hills as if the rays of sunlight were grabbing onto each strand of grass and each overturned stone, completely encasing each stroke of nature. Curling around the softened yet slowly growing bulb of light in the sky, wisps of clouds streamed through the sheet the blue, tinted with strokes of ombre as pinkish-orange hues peeked through the cottony veils of white that broke apart at the slightest touch.

Soon after, I looked behind me, amazed yet saddened at the realization of just how ironic and contradictory my life was. My eyes scanned over the molding wood of my house that was slowly crumbling and the trembling walls that only dangerously held themselves together under the weight. As my eyes slowly dragged over the place where I lived, my mind could only see the cracks and tremors that were engraved sporadically into my home’s walls, mocking the life that I had lived and the experiences I had sought out yet always returning, empty-handed.

It felt as if I were living in two worlds, simultaneously. I lived in a house that could come tumbling down on me in seconds, but the second I exited my doors, I was staring at a masterpiece of light, colors, and textures.

If only, I thought, if only my life was as beautiful as this life – the life outside these doors.

But I suppose, even sunrises don't last forever.