I can hardly remember sleeping alone.
I can only faintly recall the half-asleep tug at the blankets
and the grasp for warmth,
or the semi-conscious loneliness
and how big the king size mattress felt
when it only accommodated one.
I have vague memories of
how long the nights were,
how desperate I was to avoid dreaming
in fear of the unpleasant.
I can sort of remember
how late I slept in when I was allowed;
the morning light seeping in through my curtainless window,
my mind fighting to stay asleep
where grogginess kept my thoughts
sweet and irrelevant.
I take it back.
I guess I remember it pretty well.
Loneliness creeps in like a fog.
