Blinking eyes open as I will the sheets to evaporate, each one heavy, holding me down squinting in the sun on a mid-August ten o five. The breeze sends a chill through my skin leaving me with nothing. Not a sound stirs the room. I have an empty day ahead but I can’t settle into any decision without running through my mind, picking apart every piece of an exhausted friend who used to hum to the beat of a sunny day when there was a high of sixty five keeping me out of the pool and in a senseless state of routine.
The towel hangs still, pressed too tightly to sway above the floorboard that was not forgotten, even rescued, but this room is hollow, wreaking of dry disinfectant spray lounging across the surface of a maze, where every paper seems unnecessary but not a single word out of place. A laugh brings me to the window and spills out when Shadow catches a warbler, continuing the cycle without me. The Baby’s Breath doesn’t mind being trampled by his feet, understanding the nature behind it all. I breathe in, my senses awakening to the life and death that each day holds. One more chill runs through my being before I quickly find my way back to what I know, a bed of sheets and stillness.
Here I hold time just long enough to wake up in a blurry morning. I think what I know and I feel what I want but the truth is the breeze blew away the sound in this habit of taking my time cooking eggs and hanging dress shirts, lining all the collars up just so. I was only kidding myself in thinking that these pale pink walls could protect me forever, not just from the monsters in my closet or the knee scrapes from the slide, but from the car wrecks and the heart break my life includes. Try to carry a collar out now and I will surely melt, just like my mind in a mid-August ten o five.
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