Cold Light

tsumetai hikari no shita de

nani mo atatamaranai

Six hours a day, minimum, under a light that was never meant for a face.

It doesn't warm anything. It doesn't move across a floor.

It has no hour. It is identical at three and at midnight

happy to run all night without being asked.

Every other light in history had a shape and a schedule.

This one has neither and we chose it.

Cold light. (tsumetai hikari no shita de)

Gives nothing back. (nani mo atatamaranai)

It shows you everything

touching you not once.

Cold light. (cold light)

The most-looked-at light we've ever made

and nobody has ever stood in it and felt warmer.

I'm not going to pretend I'm above it. I'm in it as much as anyone.

It's useful, it's how I work, it's how half of what I love arrives.

The complaint isn't the light. The complaint is the ratio —

hours under this against hours under anything with a sun behind it.

Count them honestly for one week.

That number is the entire argument.

Same at three. Same at midnight.

No hour. No shape. No season.

Nothing to walk out of.

Cold light. (tsumetai hikari no shita de)

nani mo atatamaranai

Fix the ratio. (fix the ratio)

No philosophy required. Call it an adjustment.

Twenty minutes, outside, with no reason and no phone.

Cold light. (tsumetai hikari no shita de)

Free, immediate, works every time.

Which is presumably why nobody does it.