...Is a Boy I Dreamt Up
Now I am given to waking up Before, so that the abrupt consciousness does not upset the delicate in-between; the rat-a-tat of the ringing will be jarring enough.
Though the sun won't make a difference in the sky for over an hour, and its full force and effect will not occur until that much later, gray is the color. Gray, in this odd time, is the lack of any particular color, the equal balance of constituent colors. The lack of contrast spills into everything; edges fade. Objects go fluid, gaseous even. Waking dreams are sleeping dreams, the world has not yet made itself concrete.
His voice begins softly, tentatively, joining me in the bed, claiming its own space, its own pillow, adding its special comfort.
The waking is slow sometimes; sometimes the presence of mind is immediate and full. But the interlucent familiarity comes, a soft glow or an intense throbbing, often both. But always, it comes.
It makes me smile a smile big enough to wake the whole state.