September 15th, 2008
Bed
Sometimes your mind stops, and the things that you’ve been thinking about every minute for the last five years disappear. You remember the long hours with detail, the times without preoccupation. The darkness, the clean sheets, the angled blue light of street lamps projected on the walls. The synthetics in the mattress, and the softness of her hair. You remember the things you could understand.
But in the morning, it’s all gone.
