writing

Unravel

Close to midnight my mind is busy, too busy. Tumbling and turning. Writhing around. A nest of thoughts tangled, tugging.

Time to pause.

I know I should pause.

But the tug is there. The mess is waiting. Pulling at my mind.

I can’t sleep. I still can’t sleep.

I go to the garden, sit on the swing. A chill catches me. I swing into the night. Reach for constellations, patterns I know well.

I swing, legs not touching the floor. Reaching for the stars. Searching for something. Not ready to land.

If I land. I fall. Trip up on my own thoughts. They wrap me up, pull me down. Too much. Tonight. I swing. In, out, up, down. I push myself harder, reach higher. Tears roll down my face. My fractured heart aches.

The stars fade. The sun breaks. Another tired day.

Bird Song

4.30 I wake, the birds are singing outside our window. I lay alone. Listen. Their clear whistle punches through the early morning. The day not bright, not quite ready for their chorous. Yet they sing. Shout aloud. I scream. Tears run down my face. They are alive, so alive. You’re not there. Still not there. Can you hear them? Hear them sing.