The way my pillows remains cold with my absence. And once my cheek hits it, time stood still and suddenly I know why I live, why I do things. To come right back here. To my bed, and remain in this vicious cycle.
I am weak towards the day, any day. The idea of rising from my bed seems impossible. The idea of leaving this sparkly bright purple moment makes me want to cry.
I dreamt of ****. He dances in my subconscious, waiting behind the great red curtain ready to make my sleep space his stage.