It was like Ami had worn rose-tinted glasses their entire life.

If the saccharine smile caught in their thousands of dreams was ever within reach of reality, then maybe, by reaching a delicate hand through the mirror and offering kindness and redemption, there was a way to replicate that sugar-sweet smile and display it to those who could value its weight.

Ha. As if I could ever believe in romantic crap like that, Ami thinks, cutting off that stupid, dreamy train of thought.

When covered in the faint light of early morning, everything looks like an impossibly sweet dream. It’s peaceful, staring at the half-illuminated ceiling, listening to the birds chirp away, and living happily in a silent utopia where nobody could bother them.

The vestiges of sunrise don’t linger; the aquamarine shade floods their eyes through the crack in their curtains, eating away at the last of gleaming cotton candy clouds.

In that way, Ami is no different from the morning sky. How many times had their pink escaped from them?

Not enough if I’m still mourning the loss, They think, unsure if the thought is theirs.

It’s nothing at all. Everyone has to grow up, pleasant or not. 

Some people will reach the painful conclusion on their own.

Others will have their eyes opened, one way or another.