Insomnia
I sat on the edge of the bed and
wished for sleep. It was a blessing that would not come. The moon paints prison
bars across my pillow- where some are trapped in sleep, I can’t find my way in.
I
think about my sister, how sometimes I imagined her looking out the same
window, at the same moon. A world
away with the same focus. Now even
imaginings are no comfort. They are
too close to dreams.
I
wished I were sleeping as I wished she would wake. But wishes, like dreams, so infrequently come true.
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