Silver Sunrise

I never thought of the sunrise quite like I thought of the sunset. The sunset to me was always the golden ending of the day. It was the final moments before the deep, dark terror of the night began. The gold of the sunset always reminded me, “You’ve made it through another day. Here’s your gold star, literally. Maybe you’ll get another one tomorrow.”
The sunrise, though, to me, meant another day. Another day of wasting away to our deaths. It wasn’t a pretty thing I thought of when it came to the sunrise. There was just something about it.
And the color. I never saw the sunrise as gold. Rather, I saw it as silver. Still a beautiful thing, but not as much wanted or loved. And it wasn’t a sterling silver I thought of either. It was, more or less, one of those dull, almost grey silvers.
There was nothing I wanted more than the day to end. But then, if that happened, soon the night would come. I couldn’t bear the night, just like I couldn’t bear the day. Both of them were a terrible experience for me. During the day, I felt the harshness of the people around me. During the night, the harshness of the voices inside me. I was never alone. I was always with someone, whether I wanted to be or not.
There was only one moment during the entire day that I loved. That one moment that I looked forward to was the golden sunset. And then, soon, the silver sunrise would appear, and I’d have to wait a whole other day for my gold star to shine once again.