In the morning, that table glistens. The lamp, the water glass, the textbook, illuminated. I think to myself-

My grandmother gave me the pink clip-on lampshade.

I drank that water three days ago, lipstick still stains the edge.

I abandoned that course last month. Who needs it?

But at night, when the moon hides and the streetlight is obscured by the rooftops or the folded blinds, I cannot see the layers of dust. I cannot feel the living loss. I cannot cling to one more waking worry.