One Week

I slept every night last week, five consecutive nights. I did not dream of you one time, I saw our last conversation in my inbox and wanted to die, but that was only once. The sleeping pills worked, and I was tired. I had a good week last week. I have not slept in two nights. Today is Monday, but I did fall asleep last night, because I did dream of you, I was weak, defeated. You were living in your house, but it was a hotel lobby, you and I had a normal exchange and I recall wanting to document that. I was happy for it. I sat in a chair to your left, and you told me that there were a lot of visitors. I did not get it. I asked you to explain, you said people passing through. I didn't understand at the time.

(I see now that I could only grasp the transient nature of our conversation, but not life itself. The smaller the picture, the easier to grasp, so fragile.)