Daylight.

Daylight

When she was a child, she would wake up to an empty bed and a note attached to the headboard with an assurance from her parents that they'll be at work and that they love her. But as she grew up, the notes disappeared and they just left her a goodbye kiss whenever they left. Waking up alone never bothered her before, but for some reason it does now. Maybe what scares her are the thoughts that dawn on her while she's just there, wrapped up in the crumpled sheets with pillows scattered all over the bed. They can be horrific, prophetic or just side-effects of plain paranoia. Or perhaps it's the idea that there'll come a time that she might permanently wake up alone and stay alone. That she'll simply live her life alone and that she'll be singing Éponine's song 'On My Own' every single time. She's an only child, so it's possible and plausible. But she's not ready for that. She prays and prays every time that she'll find someone good enough to stay with her for the rest of her days and to hold her close. But she's still too far from that part of her life, ergo her prayer is for her family and extended family to be there for her as long as they can. Anyway, these are just her little insecurities. Her little whistles. So now she goes to sleep reciting the prayer like a mantra and keeps her hopes at bay.