The Light Of Day And Night

I have sensory issues, many many many of them, and the greatest of them is my hypersensitivity to light.

I am verry merry berry hypersensitive to light.

One of the lights to which I am verry merry berry hypersensitive is the light of the Sun.

I have issues with the light of the Sun.

The light of the Sun hurts my eyes, my eyes in the back of my head.

The light of the Sun hurts my brrrainzzz, verry merry berry much.

To me, the light of the Sun is like a vampire, a brain-draining vampire that drrrainzzz my brrrainzzz of my brrrainzzz, of it being its normal healthy happy snappy self.

The light of the Sun makes my brrrainzzz not work, so I must limit my exposure to it, if I wish my brrrainzzz to work, today, tomorrow, totomorrow, and for months and years to come.

To limit my exposure to it, I wear sunglasses, which I don’t really like to wear, or a hat, which I do really like to wear.

This summer, I have been wearing my Red Sox cap.

It has a big B and a big brim, and it keeps the light out and my brrrainzzz in.

While wearing it, I feel like my brrrainzzz are being stored safely in my head by its comfortable consistent pressure around my head.

I like things that place a comfortable consistent pressure around my head.

I like bike helmets, and I would never go biking without wearing one.

I like bunny ear headbands, and I often wore these in college.

I like chemistry goggles, and I always wear these when I fly past the Sun on my annual magic carpet ride to celebrate the official end of summer, the season of the Sun and its light.

I love the Sun, but I hate its bright light, light too bright.

In the morning, I hate the bright light that shines into my face and makes my eyes water.

At noontime, I hate the bright light that beams on my back and makes my head droop.

After noon, I hate the bright light that fries my forehead and makes my hair heat.

In the evening, I love the twilight and its long slow flight into the night.

Ideally, it would always be twilight or night, eighteen hours of twilight and eight hours of night, eighteen hours of night and eight hours of twilight.

Below the horizon, the Sun would light up the air of the Earth, a built-in filter that filters out the harm and in the charm.

The light would be golden and glowing and soft, the sky orange and purple and red.

The dark would be furrry and purrry and warm, the blackness gray, the grayness blue, the blueness true.

It would be a photographer’s dream come true.

Every twilight, I would fly across the sky on my magic carpet ride to celebrate the end of the day.

Every night, I would sleep by starlight, the bester to wake for a bright new twilight, an old beloved sight, the just right light of day and night.

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