My new home is quiet.
I can hear a train passing nearby,
reminding me that I’m not alone, with every burst of it’s horn.
I can hear him breathing heavily in the bedroom,
invested in a profound, deep sleep.
I’m envious of his casual flirtation with death, which I cannot achieve.
Sleep, to me, is a child’s mobile – just out of reach.
But when I finally grasp it, it all comes crashing down at once.
I watch as the room fills with light, hour after hour.