I slept on and off last night, something pulling me from sleep seconds before the message appeared. Someone else's tears landing on my nightstand. I'm awkward at these moments. My words fail miserably as, I suppose, they are expected. All I can do is ache, too.
The thoughts remain after I say good-bye; shaking me, twisting my dreams into something ugly and full of smoke. I wake to the sound of a knock at the door, heavy and loud, followed by what I am convinced is a turn of a key. I snap up quickly; frantic and sweaty, certain that someone has entered my home and waiting for this intruder to appear at my bed.
There is no one.
I listen to the silence and peer through the french door panes, debating whether or not it had been a dream. I know it already, actually, but still can't help the chills that have spread out over my skin.
The sun is up, and birds and children laughed impertinently on the street. I settle back into my bed, finally, my body clenched around the damp pillow.
I am suddenly and intensely frightened by our fragility.