I fear sleeping. It is as if something sinister awaits me, in the dreamworld. My subconscious attempts to alert me of all potential threats. It is a lecture through symbolism. One I don’t care for. I stare at my bed, and want to burn it in a fire that could reach the Heavens.
I am tense, easy to break. My right hand writes furiously, while my left hand curls, and digs into the floor. I seek a place to hide, and find I have made use of them all before. The truth will find me.
I call out to the warmth of a familiar body, knowing the only answer I will receive, is the stillness of an ordinary night.
We were special, I think. Two o’clock in the morning, bellies full of coffee, conversation excited and colorful. That was worth hanging onto. Chasing ghosts in my back yard. Eating chocolate pie, while watching awful movies. Making love with desperation. Faces covered in kisses, given as an oath, and more tender than a newborn babe. All of that, it’s worth keeping. It was worth fighting for.