When my bottom slides forward on the sofa and sleep opens wide and moves to swallow, one thought collapses into another and I feel the rat arrive at my waist. He clings to me, nestles in the pit of my side. His greasy warm fur brushes up against my forearm and elbow.
He comforts me.
When I drift off, he drifts off with me, breathing in and out and in and out - he in my time, I in his. I never look; even when the energy remains, I never turn to see. Although I know he's there, I might jump up, out of instinct, as I would in the day, rear back and scare him off. I don't want that. I want to lie here together, snuggled up, and float away on our sofa-raft, lullabied into dreams by the end of News at Ten.
No comments:
Post a Comment