Sweat   
Neajah Brown


it’s six in the morning and i wake up without a headache
breathing low and slow
back pressed against the antique white wall
usually my back is turned towards the empty space in my room
i slide one hand from under the cover
reaching my hand out into the darkness
grasping for god knows what
maybe a break from responsibility
maybe even you or my favorite socks
burgundy and baby pink with monkeys
i’ve only worn them once
apparently i can’t find them

while creating heat between my body and the sheets
i am starting to sweat
i grab a cold glass of water
sliding my feet across the cold hardwood floor
i take one sip
leaving the print of my bottom lip
it wrinkles on the side of the glass
pulling away as water slowly drips from the side of my mouth
i wipe it away

walking to the balcony
standing on my tiptoes as if i am too small to reach the railing
i leave my mouth open
so i can feel a slight wind run through the small gaps in my teeth
instead i can feel the wind across my face and past my lips
my gaps are not big enough
​
goosebumps, and cold feet
the sky bruised with a hint of light
the sun is rising and i forgot how long i have been here
i sit in a huge cushioned chair at the corner
my knees touching my chest
i whisper under my slow breathing
this isn’t everyday
 
 
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