I go to bed drunk and wake up at unholy hours after napping a few hours during the lunar new year break, essentially screwing up my sleep schedule and whatever discipline. I fight my way through sheets and limbs at 530am because a nightmare entered and my lungs shut down. The lights are off and I crawl to your computer to stop shaking in bed. The lights hurt my eyes but my favourite people are on.
“Come back to bed”, you mumble, your long hands reach out to touch my thighs and I feel your fingers dancing over my scars.
“In a bit.”
Twenty minutes later, I stub out the remains of death on your ceramic ash tray and I look over to see where I would fit in best. In the past, someone would hold me when I woke up gasping from a nightmare because they understood, but I figure I can’t depend on anyone to do that for now so it’s up to me to cling to whoever I can find for a little respite.
X marks my spot.