it's all toys, and finding ways to quiet and feel safe together in dark rooms with fans and rugs hanging on walls. pictures affixed with tape, handwritten notes, home in warm arms, home in cool window air conditioning, the flickering sound of crickets, the quiet lull of breath, a hand-me-down blanket neither would've picked, a phone that goes off and is silenced, faced down, or thrown across the room.

here is gentle reverie, here is a drift between rest and waking. momentary thoughts inciting aspersions then cast off by a tightened grasp and a redoubled effort to stay. to stay awake for a little longer. to feel it consciously, more. to form this as memory, a future's past-haven in which to reside, tender moments at a time. a place for returning.

though for its ends, sleep takes the weary.

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