The sound of sleeping has no concept of time.
It doesn’t wait for the clock to strike
a no longer socially acceptable hour of the night.
It comes when it wants.
No concept of time because it is not competitive.
It’s alternating who is who,
taking turns playing the listener,
the other one, the listened to.
Some nights I pray to be the last one with eyes opened,
to cherish the observations of you so at peace.
Other nights I force my eyes shut first.
Those are the evenings I need to be loved louder.
These sounds are rarely loud.
An occasional epiphany,
released in a sudden audible snore.
Mostly they are calming breaths,
slow and heavy, filled with reflection.
As if our minds were given liberty
to finally undress the day
and all its weight.
unfolding 