whiskey-colored rays of light

Whiskey-colored rays of light coming from the window dragged me out of bed. I sat transfixed in the middle of the floor, watching the way the sunlight danced off the particles of dust in the air. I had seen this once before, but too long for my memory to completely process. This was alien in the most wonderful sense of the word.

“Come back to bed,” he said, and the covers seemed to wrap around my shoulders, enticing me to leave my new-found heaven.

The day was too beautiful to sleep, I thought. Too precious for me to waste.

“Come here,” he said from the hard mattress. “Come back to bed. The blankets are still warm.” The blankets were still warm, in fact. The memory of my shape lingered there, and I knew that if I did return, it would be as if I never left.

But today was not the day, I thought. Today was too kind to allow sleep to capture me.

I sat on that hardwood floor all morning, watching the way the air swirled around my head. And it was glorious.

This poem is about: 
Me

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