Sleep Walk


(My response to a writing prompt offered by April Moore)

“I wouldn’t drink that; it has epiphanous traces in it.”

I offered a quizzical glare.

“Trust me, Stephen. If you sip on that, you may awaken.”

I set the steaming cup of tea down. The aroma was inviting, but I had labored mightily these past several months to develop the grey cloud that I hovered in.

My protective shell. My catatonic blanket, shielding me from the memories.

I preferred my sleep walk. Day into night had been lost for months. All had turned to a comfortable haze. What had formerly felt like profound loneliness, now was abstract solitude. I was no longer missing anyone, I was practicing independence.

Life as an island was a peaceful drift. Too much of the past had been in torrents, trying to connect with others, only to be cast against the waves.

Keep your tea, and your broken promises.

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