Sunlight

I could hear a joke from anyone and find it unfunny. I could hear that same joke from a friend and cry laughing. Talking to friends is like being in a different pocket of reality; a bubble in which the rules of conversation and the language used are tailored to shared interests, inside jokes, and dynamics. A weird analogy, but it’s like hotboxing oxytocin. Like, the air is flooded with joy. It has been a while since I’ve spoken to friends in this way. And, to be honest, I worry that my heightened enjoyment of this state is due to my infrequency in visiting it. 

Ever since I developed my vision disorder I have been drawn to sunlight. Especially sunsets, or warm sunshine reflections over a sea or a rusty car hood. Immediate warmth. I look at a blazing sun and instantly, in that moment, I feel ready to die as a human. Really, it’s like looking at heaven. A wondrous body, like a magnificent father. If only I could be so grossly incandescent. 

References aside, I’m not kidding about my obsession with the sun or warm, gleaming light. I think it has to do with how my disorder has affected my photosensitivity. Even glimpsing at a sunset calms my heart rate, evens my breath, and stills my bones. 

Anyway, I bring this up to say something. Laughing with friends gives me the same feeling as the sun.