My head hits the pillow and brown noise.
In one ear, but not out the other.
Tossed about like a torrent in my mind.
Tossed about in cotton sheets, not mine, it’s brown noise.
I feel the crisp winter air trying to escape itself.
Racing across my back and shoulders.
Racing to find warmth in the coldest place possible, the dark.
Seeping into my skin, and sneaking into my brain- I lie lifeless.
Paralyzed at the idea that this night, this cold, this noise, ever stops.
That what used to manifest itself miserably had become a comfort.
But it wasn’t this night.
Or the cold.
Or the dark.
Or the noise.
It’s your skin.
Your warm, soft skin, I hold my lips against and memorize so that when I pull away,
So that when you’re not there,
I. Still. Feel. You.
It’s the lightheartedness on a dark day and a dark night.
And noise is no longer noise for the sake of it.
It’s soft, but it speaks volumes and it drowns out every other sound.
Every other thought.
Every other thing that is now so seemingly insignificant.
And that torrent tosses me about in sheets, not mine,
But you hold me.
You show me.
And I am not afraid.
And there’s light, seeping into my skin- I lie devotedly under your warmth,
Listening to the brown noise.