He wakes every morning
with his arm outstretched,
his hand grasping,
clutching at air,
reaching for the ceiling.
A moment's confusion
and a sense of
dysphoria.
Then,
as the cobwebs of sleep
melt away,
his arm collapses to his side.
No reason he can fathom,
no memory of a dream,
no unfulfilled desire
that he is aware of.
Once he is out of bed
he can almost forget
the odd way his day has started,
but always,
in the back of his mind
he knows, come morning,
he will once again
be reaching
for an unknown something.
There was nothing missing
from his life,
true, he lived alone,
but he wasn't lonely.
He had friends,
a job he enjoyed,
all that he needed
and even a little extra
to occasionally
help someone less fortunate.
So what was he reaching for
in the twilight
between sleep and waking?
What deep desire
did he keep hidden
even from himself?
Or was he just striving
for something to strive for?
A way to keep moving forward
so he didn't stagnate
in complacency?