When I decided to throw a little blog party for October, I reached out to a few of my writer friends to see if they had anything they’d like to contribute. This short, lyrical piece was written by Kelsey Macke, author of Damsel Distressed, and regular contributor to my happiness and keeper of my sanity. Learn more about her at kelseymacke.com.
SOME PORTION OF SURE
Sometimes, you peel away from sleep, like pulling up the clear film that clings to the screens of brand new electronics.
Other times, you jerk away from it flinching, rejecting that state which renders you so utterly defenseless.
If you’re lucky, you’ll wake–eyes wide but unseeing.
The room around you still perfectly dark. You’ll take that thirsty breath, sipping air loudly into your lungs.
The sound of your inhale between parted teeth will be the only one you hear.
If you’re unlucky though, before your exhale, you’ll hear something.
A something that’s almost nothing.
But not nothing.
The sound of a shoe coming down on the carpet.
You’ll hold your breath, burrowing deeper into silence. Doubt swells as your lungs burn, silence filling up the room.
And just before you relax and let your breath slip out through taught lips, you’ll hear another step.
You’ll hear the carpet fibers crush under heel and up to toes.
There’s no one in your bedroom.
You’re some portion of sure.
Just enough to try to fall asleep again.
Not quite enough to turn on the light.