yesterday I awoke in the early hours, to the sound of rain. I delayed my eyes opening, maintaining the curve of my spine that I cling to in sleep.
I've always known sound better than any of the other four senses. I blame it on horrible vision, but can't complain when eavesdropping and picking out quiet songs in loud coffee shops.
they say sound and spacial awareness go hand in hand. I say they play cruel tricks on the hopeful.
lids closed, I felt the weight of him indented in my mattress. his breathing drawn out, with gaps that would always leave me wondering if he was awake too.
but on opening my eyes, turning to face the presence, the concept dissolves.
it's not Dublin rain, it's drought-dried leaves blowing in these hilltop winds.
and it's just me.