Cold Enough.


6 in the morning I wake up because it’s not cold enough. After tossing and turning through the night my eyes refuse to stay shut any longer. My body pushes me to the edge of the bed where my water sits staring at me as I slide the window open. Inhaling deeply, I love being up this early on a Saturday because I’m one of few to taste the air and it lingers in my lungs and the city is silent. The noise will pick up soon, the metro will soon be running, but right now all I can hear and feel is my breath. I sleep with the tv on and always turn it off at the first sign of light because these quiet hours are detrimental. Before I know it my naked feet will hit the carpet and the day will consume me and I will be surrounded by movement and noise. And although I may fall back asleep, this silence is my lullaby.


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