Tremulous

Do not fall asleep, you must not fall asleep, you know the damage it will do, I repeated to myself to no avail. Two hours later, revived just in time to watch appropriate bed times pass by impossibly, I happily tackled the mountain of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. The coffee cup full of abandoned cigarettes, the smell reminds me of your mouth, I reluctantly replace it with the smell of detergent and lemon. She returns from Africa and says It's odd. Empty. Cold. It feels like hell, and I am ashamed to be so happy to have her near again.

The heavy cloak of January drapes itself softly over our aloof senses; everyone is lost and stumbling. Yet at the edges, the slightest flicker of light. Today I thought I must write and it was the first time in weeks. I rejoiced as though over a returned lamb and held the thought close to my chest all day. I must write. This winter, this unending darkness, it steals my life from me, my inspiration, my determination. But our one power over the season is that it will pass, and we will not. One day, the evening will be long and we will forget we ever doubted, we ever feared.

The light at the edges reminds me. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth, and I wait.