Between home and awake

So I was challenged to describe the state between being awake and asleep. The state where there are no words. Just movements and muses. Songs from the past, replayed from the mouths of faces in that day. In the womb of my own duck-feather-filled duvet. Where the country is as small as my breaths. It does not make much sense, this time of the night.

The bus rides by our window, but that does not interrupt the sense of falling and bouncing on pencils that scratch the ground as they move and flick forwards. Or picturing sneezes so powerful that they blow you backwards thirty yards until you're standing outside the hotel smiling at the staff who were waiting for you to check in.

It is a private time. Of no sense. But to share it with someone, is bliss.

That's all I've got to say about that. I'm off to bed. Night night.