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I hear slumber calling—
a distant, lonely sound,
perhaps the loneliest I have ever known.
It carries empty promises of peace,
visions of places we have been
and realms we never earned the right to imagine.

Sleep assembles us like a kit
with missing instructions,
parts rattling loose in the dark.
Whatever it forges does not cool cleanly—
it leaves us fired and cracked,
pulled from the kiln too soon.

When it is over,
when the dust finally settles,
we sit on the edge of the bed,
spines bent at an old kink
we forgot we learned,
waiting for something to return—

something to tell us
how this works again,
how it is
to breathe.

Author’s Note

My thanks to Di for hosting the #MM301 challenge. These prompts don’t arrive gently—they sit with you, press a little, and ask what’s still unresolved. This piece grew out of that quiet pressure, out of what lingers after the noise fades. I’m grateful for the space to explore that edge, and for the invitation to listen closely to what remains unsaid.