All the grace

From the ear buds the soft monotone voices speak slowly enough for sleep to come to me. Silence is too full of the unknown for my tired mind to manage.

Asleep like I am in a race. Running from thought to thought. From dream to awake to the places still and dark between them to running again.

A passing train rumbles through the middle of town, its horn blaring into all of our places. The sound rising over fence and building and then settling like dust on tops of dumpsters, and roof tops and somehow rising again and traveling on into the night over miles of Winter bare fields.

Tiny and not so tiny people creaking in over the planks and into our bed wedging themselves into the spaces between he and I. My body unable to turn right onto my back. I am unable to fully extend my legs unless I turn and twist myself diagonal.

Nearly awake now I can see it, words in the smoothest script written on so many pieces of paper tossed into the air and falling onto tables edge, and metal chair, and hard-wood floors just before the scramble. Choose from the millions of choices and decide what to do, do and repeat the scramble again.

Anxiety

16 Dec 2020