I slept badly, tossing and
turning — first too hot, then too
cold, twisting until I was tangled in
sheets. The mild claustrophobia
kicked in then, and the dreams
grew worse, mutating from vague
anxieties to full-blown nightmares.
When I finally woke it was to a
grey morning, tired limbs, and
sweaty, sticky skin. I so did not
want to get up; I felt cheated
of my sleep. When I rolled over,
your eyes were open, and you quietly
said, “I love you.” The first thing
I heard that morning, falling into
a frustrated silence and shattering it
with surprised joy. I haven’t woken
to you, and those words, in far too long.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
January 26, 1998