Slumber

At last, my head is still, and I feel lifeless. With time and stillness comes new life. The stress slows, the mind is aroused, and the strength will return. Future warmth will be welcomed like a newborn into the world. All that's left to do is take my seat and wait with patients for the show to begin.

I slip into my nest. My conscience is no longer restricted. I'm sucked into the cold cushion like a constrictor and its prey. I do not struggle. I can not struggle. The embrace in instantaneous.

I tune myself to create a comfortable melody. The cocoon and my decrepit body and soul combine into the orchestra. It's notes illuminate from my breathing. The soft ruffles add dynamics; the low dim of the wall clock sets the tone. Tick, tick, tick...I have taken me seat in the grand theatre. The curtains are pulled.

A musical. A long, and elegant musical. My mind is astray, untangling each clear note into a masterpiece. Through scenes it dances. Remembrance of every setting and every tone will replay in the morning.

Love seeps from the slits of my lids. Time is the director, for the more time I spend in slumber, the more beautiful the play unfolds. The clock on the wall still turns, my fear of end grows. My eyes cannot help but feel hatred towards the numbers illuminating off the wall. feeble lines and their simple meaning will not control my awakening.

An encore. Still just as sweet. But shorter. I hear what I fear; the clock. My conscience is returning to the head it guides.

The cracks grow, my eyes open with inexperience. The morning light is not welcomed kindly. The orchestra has stopped playing. The actors have taken their bow. And the curtains have closed.