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What a Morning Weighs

The worst thing about not sleeping is the morning after, that not-sleep-to-wake creep of inky pre-dawn hours. It’s been months since I could leave my body at night, levitate out of this darkness and hopscotch away through night sky.

You see, my universal passport is currently on ice, a galactic grounding due to knee injury. Believe me, I tried... but a Lemurian customs agent stationed just outside of Mars caught me, bright-handed, after I stumbled through a meteor shower.

Rookie move.

I was sent back, my auric tail tucked firmly between my legs. And because I understand the interstellar relationship between weight and mass, I also understand that sadness is heavier here on earth. It’s the tie to a human body, weighted as it is with potatoes and wine and dreams of writing. Full stop

▪️— rainsound, whir of fan, dog bark —▪️

Soft filtered light brings with it the crush of unexplored stardust on my chest. Cock’s crow is tons heavy. It is. Friends, make no mistake: insomnia is not a choice for some of us.

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