Awake to waves. Where am I?
In bed. Cars. Swishing. Not waves.
Time. What day is it?
My trip is in two weeks.
I haven’t gone yet, despite my dream.
The second dream I’ve had about the trip.
Last night I was there, on my trip. Counting days.
Five nights left, I thought. More time. Please. More time.
The other dream, I can’t quite remember, except the sadness of thinking the trip was over. Too fast. Please. More time.
And now I have brewed coffee and am sitting on the couch. Awake, mostly.
A siren. Filaments of rain outside the window. Sip. Warmth. I think, these things all have their own time: sounds, weather, places, dreams.
This morning. Mourning. More.
Please. More time.