I am sitting in my bed, looking out my window. Wishing I could paint the photos my camera takes of the lighting horizon on one half of the sky and the full moon on the other, making morning come faster. Knowing that while it is four am here, somewhere else is seven in the morning, always seeing the sun before I do. It’s a beautiful moment.
You have been sleeping badly. All tight with worry about asteroids arriving, and if you can still bake bread with your heavy little hands and those holes in your lungs.
When I dream of you there are no asteroids, and there is your bread, and you sleep all quiet and tiny breath.