Night.
It’s your time.
You get in bed, your intimate space.
The stitches on the bed, like marks on a timeline, remind you of everything you’ve been through today.

Night.
It’s your time.
You wind-down, listen to your breathing.
Everyone’s asleep.
Quietly, you reach out your hand to one of the pockets.
You never tell what’s inside each of them, it’s your secret.
Maybe you take out a book,
Maybe you take out your chocolate,
Maybe you take out your headphones.
No one knows where it came from, or where it’s going back to…

It’s your time.

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