He sleeps with his fist held next to his shoulder. His thumb twitches.
I curse myself for tuning out his rhythmic breathing, a sound I’ll only hear for a bit longer, as I fall into sleep.
Dreams take the place of his reality.
Sometimes I don’t realize how scared I am of something until I dream about it. Our brains feel our fears for us, nothing more than fabricated flickering images behind our eyes, so that we don’t have to live them.
What a wonderful thing.
But what a terrible thing.
Because what I fear is the separation, and when I fall asleep we fall apart.
This post is part of the A-Z Challenge. My theme is April Scribble, which includes microfiction, small vignettes, and poetry.
For more alphabetical goodness, click here.