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          Before sunrise is the safest time. The wind bangs against the shutters. You sigh softly into the relative dark. The man made light from street lamps filters through the gaps in your solid blanket curtains. It encourages another early morning, shamelessly stealing large sections of the night. You wonder to yourself about the power of change, and those who have it. You dream of those powers akin to the superheroes that centred your childhood dreams. You sink at the disappointment of it all.

          The quiet humming of machinery patters around the rooms. You would say it was silence. Each morning you must re-affirm your belief in gravity. If you put your foot onto the ground, would you float off into the skies? You lie still for a while, and let yourself believe that the world could still be a wondrous and magical place. You make a last ditch attempt to cling to the enchantment of the night, yet it slips away as your mind refocuses. Concentration is broken and you step out of bed the same way you always do, the shock of the cold floorboards predictably surprising you as it always does. You take a deep breath. Today is another ordinary day.

          You wander monotonously down your cold creaking stairs, each squeak a reply to the weight of your descending body. You are watching not to catch your toes in the loose threads of the carpet, worn down to the boards. The print of all the days that preceded this. You imagine the thousands of versions you, making this journey, the same time, everyday. You flirt with the idea of change as you run your hand softly down the splintered banister, not recoiling at its prickly touch.

          A mish-mash of moulding takeaways are strewn haphazardly across the sideboard. A mangled timeline of the weeks that have passed. New greenery sprouts out from under the burgers and chicken wings. It is almost beautiful. You can find life in the hollowest of places. It affirms your belief that all you need his here, around you.

          You have a sudden terrifying epiphany that all time is pre-determined. That you are destined to circle this story forever, dragging yourself from sunrise to sunset. You want to scream but no sound comes out. Just the same sturdy mechanic hum floats around your ears, the language of all your many timesaving electronics you have installed over the years.

          You open the thick set curtains of your living room and the world leaks in, life filling everything it touches. Children run past your window, a dog barks. The street is a vibrant kaleidoscope of activity, but this is not where your attention lies.
A woman is stood some way up the street, you can only just make out her features. She is watching you. She is smiling. You think about going to her, and the flood of possibilities she could bring. You dare yourself to make a move, to change the loop you are travelling in.

         After a time you close the curtains and put on the television. You can see the screen better in the dark.