i wake up to find unsolicited dread awaiting me. again. and it doesn’t take long to clutch. there’s no way to end the monthly cramp subscription. everytime i hope to get a nightly pass, my body rushes to shake my cradle and reminds me that my time’s up.

it demands to be felt; stealing my solace if it needs to. the body is entrusted with keeping me alive, and it does–faithfully, relentlessly–everything to fulfil that duty, without realising that my haven is being traded for a threat it manifested itself. and i’m expected to pay the bill.

but i long to return to the cradle where my mind lulls me, showing me places my body doesn’t hear of, where no want is unreasonable and no demand is made. the cradle welcomes me and the mind allows me to be, to dream. but at the crack of dawn, the mind slowly prepares for my departure, asking me to handover my only earned possession–the memory. locking me out of the place closer to heaven than anywhere else i get to exist. the mind too, has a duty; to protect me from its own conjuring–and so it does. lest i remember too much and forget my body; it’s stolen from me, by me.

and the mind almost gets away with this, until its conjuring leans negative. the body, on guard all night, follows the scent. unable to distinguish between real and imagined pain, it strikes–and in that interruption, the heist unravels as the mind rushes to lock me out. and while no one’s watching, the anguish of my nightmare seeps through and i’m finally in possession of something i earned, but not one i favoured. but the mind is determined to have the last word; it pulls its final act–permitting the memory to stay, but stripping its pain.

and they call a truce. as i stand watching, left with nothing i can call mine.

but how can i crave something that i cant taste. all i have is the faded keepsake of something i wouldn’t choose to relive.

so i revisit each night, hoping to keep a piece that’s actually mine this time.