April 18th, 2003

Dr. Bunny

Pillow Talk

I write when I sleep.

Just before I doze off, I have the most brilliant ideas. In my lucid state, I write them down quickly on my pillow, tracing lines of lint with my finger tip. It's so good, it's so wonderful. I will remember it in the morning. But when I wake up, the pillow is blank, linnen pulled and crumpled. All my words have been erased, although some have been pressed like the other creases into my skin, faint red lines of brilliance.

It was nice to wake up next to him, and to watch him sleep. It made me wonder how long it will be untill that happens again; when my bed will not be warmed simply by me. When in fact two bodies will make it too warm and blankets are kicked to the end of the bed, limbs splayed to catch the tiniest breeze from a small window fan. Cold skin in morning light, annoying birds and idle chatter, laughing untill the alarm clock rings and the day is safe to start.

I have lived only a small part of my life. There is so much ahead of me, so many words to write at dusk on pillowcases, hoping to remember, lingering on my face, faint lines and fading thoughts.
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