The blanket (sad dream I can’t remember)

I keep the blanket for comfort, and that’s the problem. I carry it on my hips and shoulders, and it clouds my eyes. The clouds block out the light and I can’t see myself when I’m under it.

I think about it more than I should. It’s a form of control: a battle between letting go, and holding on.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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