I once craved sleep,
but the soft stirrings of morning stole my longing.
No clock, just the warmth of your 6:00 AM wakeup snuggles —
a ritual unspoken, tender and true.
We swayed in the old chair,
its gentle creak a lullaby for us both,
and as I drifted off again, you mumbled for juice,
your small voice anchoring me to the day.
Now, only electronic alarms stir the silence,
cold and distant in their precision.
No whispers sneak into the morning,
no secret snuggles or battles for blankets,
no small, urgent cries for cereal to ground me.
Now, in the quiet of this old, lonely house,
the silence weighs heavier than the walls.
Without the distractions or stirrings,
it’s just me —
left to wake myself,
if sleep even comes at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment