Vanilla taffy sits on my tongue melting. The sky melts in the same moment. Rain soon, certainly.
My life comes in short bursts--nothing insurmountable; nothing worth climbing over. I go to bed depressed, waking a couple of hours into sleep, disturbed by a dream. The time on the alarm clock frustrates me. The middle-of-the-night air prickles my skin with goose bumps, reminding softly that I do possess nerves, still.
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing sleep more than wooing it, stubborn against the possibility of more hours awake, to count the minutes through.
The days stretch, melting endlessly, like taffy, some might say. I am not stagnant but coming or going, of which, I'm not certain. There is a small speck of me in the foreground; squinting, I can see the blurred speck focus into something I recognize, and then, I wake.