Sleeping through the days in The eye of every storm

Dawns rosy fingers unfurl slowly. The sky turns from black to slate grey, to a deeper, darker blue, slightly before an orange hue invades from the east. A thinly veiled mist tingles the air and the grass blades sparkle in unison, a quiet acceptance of winters failed grasp. The forthcoming day beckons of glory, of warm skies for warmer hearts. The promise of dog walks, park picnics atop blankets, jogs, and laughter luminously light the morning as dawns rosy fingers gain their arms strength, embracing the day.

I slide behind a mask and cover my eyes in darkness. This day is for others to enjoy. Recently, I’ve been switching to midnight shifts at work. With the ability to trade shifts, they allow me the opportunity of seven, ten, twelve days off in a row every month. I owe my debt to the daylight and the darkness is its collector.

The sleep medicine swirls my thoughts, spiraling them here and there, interspersing memories of the past and entwining them with the present. There are ghosts so real I can feel their breath, hear their words, and tingle from their touch. Nightmares of things I’ve done, regrets I’ve had, partition and segue within the good memories, serrating and rinding their roots to nothing. The good memories plunge into the depths of ethereal infinity and drown into the darkness, into the medicine, into the present.

In the deep end, minutes are hours and hours are lifetimes. The current carries me away to panicky dreams of understanding, a darker remorse more bitter than death. I grasp through the waves of covers, pummeled by blanket after blanket. I cough and sputter, gasping for air, and reach, desperately and with purpose. On the other side of the bed, I find her. My fingertips touch her shoulders and slide off, but its enough to know my anchor is there. Her presence guides me through the reefs, throws me my preserver and hauls me to shore.

Comfortably resting in the new world, the past is vanquished, if only for one more night. Despite wearing a sleep mask, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, filtering through the slats of the blinds. I’m fading, I’m fading, I’m fading, and I’m gone.

Last updated February 07, 2015