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.