When Your Head Hits The Pillow
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It is very late or very early depending if you are awake like I am or asleep like the rest of the people on my street. When I pause in between things, I can look out the window into the night and the silence on the street is visible and as I look at the houses all tucked in, I am thinking of recent events that have resurrected thoughts of the old man and the old man's ways and the old man's words and everything else the old man dragged around with him and heaved upon everyone in his wake.
He has been gone for more years than I have fingers and all his garbage has been cleaned up and dealt with but there are times in these very late hours of the night (or early hours of the morning) that I am weakest and I look back and want to rethink things and I question the distance that he and I have created.
Let me rephrase that. He created it and I have kept it.
It is then, when you take the top of your head off and have a good look around and you unbutton your shirt and let your chest beat a little louder and you let the clock push on towards morning because you know eventually, when your head hits the pillow, it will all go back to how it used to be.
