Linsey-Woolsey

No one else sleeps where I lay my head. My empty bed. My nest. My safety zone of rest. I’m such a child at times, to be so grown and sleeping alone doesn’t seem to be the thing that I see in the future for a girl like me. I am- -I seem to say in my head of course as I lay buried in the feather tick with Gram’s linsey- woolsey still so warm and thick pressed against my cheek. Sometime’s I think I smell her hair and while lying there just for a moment -- a single moment I do feel her with me. Oh, I hope she can see how much I miss her. She was and she felt the feelings that stir and needle and pelt the inner me as I melt from the child who clings to the old self while the new rises. Inspired by the portrait--"sleeping child"