There’s not enough coffee for this.
That’s my first thought at 3:30 in the morning when my body jerks awake. They say you wake when you’re running through someone else’s dreams. I stretch across the bed and issue a silent warning, whoever you are, where ever you are, when I find you …
Then again, they also say people who suffer from depression are more apt to wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning. The romantic in me swoons at the old wives tale and the idea that maybe a long awaited soulmate is out there dreaming of me, although the realist knows I don’t attend therapy sessions for nothing.
I stare at the ceiling fan trying to latch onto one blade and follow it around and around. It’s a bizarre way of counting sheep but sometimes it works.
Instead I find myself staring blankly ahead, breathing slowly and deeply. My mind wanders although I can’t quite control where it’s going. I feel like there’s something I’m heading towards but I can’t see it yet.
There’s a fog of sorts obscuring it but I’m sure there’s something there. Perhaps something I should remember? Or a bit of concealed inspiration?
I furrow my brow in concentration, what is it?
Then, as clear as if whispered by someone in the room, a voice I don’t recognize. It whispers my name and sounds close enough to be lying in bed next to me.
My trance is instantly broken as I sit straight up and look around. Beside the bed my dog rolls to the side with a huff.
Otherwise I’m alone in my darkened room.
Just me and the memory of a whisper.