Sweet Dreams ((Prose))

Bodies are strange. I mean, really. Close your eyes and think about your body. You have ten fingers, ten toes, two arms and a nose. Why? Because God said so. You have eyes, and they have a colour. You have lungs, which take in oxygen and use it to stain your blood red. And you have a brain, which tells your heart to beat. It tells your body to keep pressing on against the one AM exhaustion dragging you down.

The amazing thing about bodies is how soft they are. They fold under a warm embrace. They shake with laughter when some small form of humour has been noted. Hands are made to be held and lips are meant to be kissed. A body is meant to be cradled and held, from the moment you are born until the moment your body ceases to hold life. Mostly, bodies are warm.

Beds are sort of hard. They're cold, when they're full skeletons. There are no warm bodies to hold you. Nothing to make you fold. You are simply, utterly, devastatingly alone.

Sweet dreams.