Good Morning

When I wake up, it's always the same. Lying there in the silence behind my eyelids, on the edge of a dream. What happened, in all those hours, sometimes just minutes, between sleeping and waking? I don't remember. I just feel warm tiredness, heavy sadness. I want to remember. My thoughts lead me, though, to other thoughts. Unwanted memories, unwanted dreams. I see flashes of flesh. I listen to silent whispers. Closing my eyes tighter, I think of the small space next to me in my twin-sized bed, of the body that isn't there. My heart beats loud, without sound. Can my friend hear it, from just next door? Can she hear it, from the space just beneath my floor.

     My house-mate thunders downstairs for breakfast. My stomach grumbles. I hug the blankets that aren't as warm as a person, and in the kitchen, I hear her voice.

     I get up.