Practice of Sleep: I perch my right temple to the feather pillow beneath my neck and close my eyes. My head tipped up in receiving the cold night breeze blowing in from my bedside window. The yellow light from the flickering street lamp is but a dull glow behind my tired eyes. I draw my legs in beneath my curled body and cross my ankles. It is here that I forget the trials of the day and succumb to my worn and depleted state. In reflection of my habitual routines and anxieties, I exhale and I forget. I feel nothing except the body I inhabit. Like a swan sheltering itself behind its ivory plumage, I pull my blankets over my head and fly into the forgotten.
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