I am lulled into the moving waters of a slow dream.
I awake in my dream on my couch in what used to be my home. A weighted blanket is draped over me, the blue plaid pattern familiar. When I inhale, the smell of stale detergent enters my nose. It's impossible to tell whether it is morning or evening. The sun remains neutral, refusing to give away the time of day. Sitting up, stretching, the blanket falls away from me. I am naked. I don't feel cold, or vulnerable, or ashamed. My hair is matted but I care nothing of it.
My feet lead me to where my mind is too afraid to go: into my bedroom. My hand twists the doorknob and the barrier is thrown open. Jeremy lays in bed on his back, blankets just below his bellybutton, arms twisted above his head. The eerily ambiguous sun shines in thin yell
