My eyelashes brush the pillowcase as I stare into the monochromatic grey cushions and pillows in front on me.
I’m restless. There is a faint scent of talc and shampoo.
The bathroom lights up as a car drives by, even though I’m at the back of the building, I can’t escape the headlight’s projection.
I drove home in silence, not upset, rather uncomfortable in my own mind.
The events of the day settle upon me as I weave through the streets.
Not peculiar only to me, my troubles of the day are but my own.
My Beau is unwell, he is gaunt and weak from a virus. Staring up at me with his big blue eyes, wanting only to lie down quietly.
I feel helpless that he doesn’t eat or drink, apart from a few sips of water.
Then my cheeky Chicky, as I tuck him into bed, asks me to take him to school in the morning.
I rub his head and tell him that I can’t as I have to work. It’s a statement lazy with circumstance, though received by this boy with a getting used-to nonchalance.
I arrive home and check my emails. I have a note from a friend overseas which brings a faint smile. I stare up at the boys’ picture in the room. I wonder, I wonder all things about them.
It’s a two dimensional day, nothing great, nothing grand. Nothing to put my finger on, yet I lie awake, tormented and tangled in the sheets.
There are some days, living in between two lives, where it feels like I’ll never find the right way home.
I’m not inside the house, nor am I on the street. I’m standing at the gate.
The plunging depth of quiet is suffocating on these nights. I turn onto my side and look at the cushions in a row.
Sleep begrudgingly arrives. I miss the rustle and familiarity of someone next to me, especially on my two dimensional days.