The day has whispered itself away,
and here I am again,
caught between the world I know
and the one I'm about to dream.
My body sinks into the mattress,
heavy like a stone dropped in water,
but my mind?
My mind wants one more lap around the track.
Maybe it's something small:
did I lock the door?
did I answer that text?
why did I say that thing at lunch?
Or maybe it's bigger:
am I doing enough?
am I becoming who I want to be?
will tomorrow be different?
Sometimes it's a person's face,
floating up from the depths
like a photograph in dark water.
Someone I miss.
Someone I love.
Someone I need to call.
Sometimes it's just a song lyric,
stuck on repeat,
playing itself over and over
like my brain's favourite broken record.
And sometimes,
if I'm lucky,
it's nothing at all.
Just the feeling of my breathing,
slow and steady,
like waves coming to shore,
and the sweet, simple knowing
that I made it through another day.
That last thought before sleep
is a funny little thing.
It's the period at the end of today's sentence.
It's the bookmark in my story.
Sometimes it's worry,
sometimes it's wonder,
sometimes it's just
"I hope I remember this dream."
But whatever it is,
it's mine.
The last thing I own
before I let go
and fall.
