Friday Night

It’s almost eleven, and Halle snores in her bed on the floor of the bedroom. I am only partially here, partially awake. If I focus a bit more I can feel the part of myself that’s curled up approximately under my rib cage, asleep or hiding, occasionally ravenously hungry. But most of the time I pay little attention to it or it to me. It is lumpish and heavy. It aches. It drags my eyes shut at night.