Contemplations at 2:30 AM
And I seem to be waiting
in the vastness of my room
for an ideal reply,
while I sink in my mental comfort
and dark clouds of summer memories.
I am strangely uneasy in this 2:30 AM.
Lonely even, as I wish for one thing to untie the knot in my stomach,
half from the flu,
half from societal consequences.
I wish for a hand.
Something to replace the grip of my pillow.
A living, breathing, pumping being.
A presence.
To make me feel safe and secure.
I am conflicted.
I need comfort.
I need a reminder that everything would be alright.
A specific hand,
or any hand?
A human presence is all I need.
Is that why in the loneliness of midnight I need to listen to music?
A specific hand,
a paw even?
Regardless, what would I be without my own hands?
I would not be able to embrace, stroke,
hold.
No art or expression could be made.
No air would flow as negative space through my fingers.
I would not be able to hold a hand without a pair of my own.
A hand, a hand!
I need one right now to intertwine in my fingers,
to reassure that miracles are real and that I am
alive.
Even without a conversation,
a hand would be such a grace
in the depth of this solitary night.
Shall I call for my dog to lend a paw?
Or should I just rant?
Or daydream!
Of when a hand was in mine
and time was
slow.
Can I stay here forever?
With a hand in mine,
restricted and through fudge but,
free.
While my home feels like a shoe box,
and he so tall and handsome.
Alas, a daydream is in fact
just a dream.
A fantasy!
Shall I just sleep and wait for the eight to three thirty time frame when that hand would be mine?
Indeed a hand is all I need.
Is there still Napoleon ice cream in the fridge?