Basic Functions: Disrupted
I wake and my covers are twisted and tangled.
I dream of odd things, forgotten people, real places.
I cannot fathom what my mind is trying to work out, what relentless riddles have nested there.
I almost feel someone breathing beside me, though my bed is empty and the other side is cold.
I flip and I flop. I turn the pillows over and over,
looking for cool, for warmth.
I cover up with the sheet, then the comforter, then both.
I look at the windows, both hoping to see and dreading the light.
I contemplate reading, writing, watching television, cleaning, running.
But I do none of those.
I untangle the covers. I remind myself that I am alone, that morning will come sooner or later.
I hug my pillow, I make myself breathe slowly, rhythmically,
and I will myself to try again.