The quiet close of my eyes and suddenly the words are erased and i am back inside my own head, lids drawn comfortably closed like thick shades to thwart the sun – my ears playing along as if they could do the same. The drift back and forth from wake to the inside of my eye lids rarely finds me becoming any more awake. Awake is the moment of decision, of day starts here, of opening eyes and smiling at the pillow next to mine.


Those mornings do not make me more tired. No one understands, but there is something about those brief flashes of open eyes and ears that makes the rest between them so much more valuable. It is hard to know what you have got until you do not have it for a second and then dash back to it, arms open, claiming that you never meant to leave.