The kitchen light turns on

Its warm tone makes my translucent door glow

I wonder who it is, a little disturbed

Like the sanctity of my sleepless hours

Has been intruded upon by another unwanted

Gesture of reality.

Then I realize it is Baba

Boiling water and rummaging for a fork

And I realize it is already 6am

And he is packing up for work.

Suddenly I feel safe, a little cozy

He cracks open my door and as quietly as he can,

Shuffles into my bedroom

I bury my phone under my pillow, shut my eyes unrealistically tight

Baba turns off my fan, probably thinking I’m too cold

My feet are still too warm

But I don’t mind.

The four last hours I’ve lost lightly presses onto my chest– soft, reassuring hands telling me

It’s OK to sleep now.

The front door closes, he’s gone for work now.

I’ll see him in 10 hours–

For now, I rest,

The peeking sun casting patterns

Through my window blinds.



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