@abeum
on most nights the god-awful dreams end with her phone pressed to her ear. it’s half past midnight, and she knows -- cue the knowing squint of her eyes when her phone gives a short buzz, lurks in extended silence as she lets it illuminate the night-blue wash of her room. there’s something about the building anticipation as she swipes across the screen and hits call, the impending greeting a fluttering whir at the back of her throat. there's tranquility in static connection as she sits back and kicks back her sheets, laughter bouncing off empty walls when he finally (finally) picks up. she’s slumping back into a bed of pillows in the next second.
“i think my vegetables are after me,” lower lip juts out as she mulls over the ridiculous train of thoughts her subconscious manages to piece together. “what if they're out there...?” knees to her chest, she curls up against the headboard, loose locks a messy tumble down her pillow, “can you come and check for me?”
