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Sometimes I find myself missing the sound of my mother's heartbeat. |
Some nights I lay awake, eyes burning from lethargy, mind whirring like a motor about to give. But for all my searching, I cannot find sleep. The quiet is what betrays me; it is the thing that keeps me staring. In those moments, I miss my mother, though she sleeps just in the next room. I miss her so much that all of the air escapes my lungs, and I have to shake the tremors from my hands. I feel separate from the world. The walls sheltering me, all the windows and all the doors, fade away to nothing, and I am one small star in the whole, of the great dark universe. I do not feel alive. I feel like static; like snow; like wind. The silence is a violent empty, and I think I miss the warmth of my mother; the way she kept me safe within her, carrying me along, like the heart in her chest- the one that I could hear beating when we were together. Maybe its that sound I miss: that reminder of life; that reminder of love. And on those nights. I cannot fall asleep until I've shaken my mother awake, and laid my head on her chest, and heard that old familiar sound; the one that settles all my bones, like some strange lullaby. |