Drifting somewhere.
We all go somewhere when we sleep. Each of us end up somewhere. Some stay still, swayed by steady breaths, while others sleepwalk or wander, leaving dust behind for us to find as evidence of their night travels.
Where do they go, now that no one will wake us? I can feel them sitting with feelings they rarely had to before. They still don't know what it's like to be tucked in and wished goodnight.
I drift down a river when I sleep, now. It feels like settling into the winding arms of its current, with my body now weightless, and feelings dampened and soft. I look forward to sleeping, because I don't really want to be awake.
The world looks different when our inner space sucks us in. Going through our day, while our awareness oscillates between what's real out there, and what's real inside our head. There is always the echo of our consciousness making its way to whichever one we haven't settled in. I live as an echo. I want to leave, to stop being so stuck in a weird fuzzy bubble.
I underestimate what it's like to live with this.