It's late and I can't sleep. I stare at my body stretched out in front of me and think, strange, I don't fit this anymore. I clench my fists and feel my nails dig into my palms. It hurts but the pain doesn't make me real.
Nothing does.
I'm half in, half out.
I'm here and not here.
I breathe and don't breathe.
It's me.
Who's me?
And so I drop down, out of the bed, and stroke my little dog, curled up in his little pink bed. Arnold is asleep. He lifts his paw in supplication. Please let me sleep.Touching him doesn't make me real.
Tight curled ball. Asleep.
But I'm awake.
Wide awake.
Words swirl.
Like snow.
Everywhere.
Nowhere.
It's the silent watches of the night. (Hush) Heads on pillows.
I've disappeared.
But I don't know where.
The body lies awake.
What body?
