eyes open and close through paper days. a body on a pillow. some nights pass quicker through static and silence in the sheets. others fill with colour.
dreams build doors that never actualise beyond the bardo. familiar faces take the stage to gloat ambitions for the demons to scratching claws and howls. a pantomime of what if, all of little consequence. at the time it all feels real from the cheap seats to the wings.
sometimes there's excitement like I haven't known in years. I chew on fantasies I'd never have the nerve to chase. watch them forge a path into the inbetween. hope is less dangerous behind closed eyes. I see you and you want to see me too. sometimes there's only joy and warmth without an urge to read the news. your closeness is enough to keep me where I am. content for a moment; cycling circles in my head.
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