when you fall asleep

I remember watching you drift off to sleep. And how your breathing changed. You looked so at peace. And the glow from the television screen was burning holes in the corners of my eyes. You finally fell, fast asleep. So vulnerable, like a lamb with its throat exposed. There was nothing left to you, you had fully retreated into your sweet little mind. Truly alone, then, and happy, and your rest was a blanket of flower petals that danced in slow motion in the wind from the window slightly open, covering every inch of you in purple and white always in motion, always in motion.

And the job waits for you tomorrow. The commute waits for you, at the end of this peace. And those are the things that make up your life. And they all wait for you. Like a child waiting for a school bus. They wait for you and you go to them but you don’t want to but they love you and you breathe such life into their contractual and humble existence, it is so beautiful the sun you pull into the sky each morning.

The dark outside has lights and they block the stars. You remember staying in a tent, with the roof made of bug nets, and you remember looking at those stars, in your dream you remember, and you’re thinking of those now, but you won’t remember this dream when you wake up and these dreams are such beautiful secrets.

And you have your past, waiting for you, at the end of all this peace. The ones you love. The crushes you kept and the ones you left behind. The secrets you won’t tell anyone for if anyone knew you would lose something important. Like a coin in your pocket. Shiny and bright. Hidden in the cloth. Your hand rolls the coin over and over amidst the cloth and you know its worth and the way it looks in the light but you can’t bring it out when there are others around because they would know you have a coin. (just

Like

Them)

And we know the pieces that people bring with them. They trail close behind them. Monsters, and dead trees, and pictures in broken picture frames, and the fires on their back. Carrying these things over their shoulder, with a long chain, and the metal clinks, and they have a hard time hearing anything else.

But you carry the sun. You are the light and the honey.

And behind those eyelids is so much I’ll never know.

And so much I’ll never see.

And your eyelids shake, and I can see the outlines of your pupils shaking. There is electricity in your brain and it makes you who you are and maybe you are the sun and the day carries you. 

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