I just replaced the sheets on my bed.
I can tell because they are purple now and not spring green
and in creases they feel soapy.
They are crisp against my shoulders, my back,
my body resting heavily.
I can tell they are unwritten and I am their pencil poised and waiting,
soaking in time and saturating in plum
and feeling the vibrations,
I lay back:
revel in the humming,
reach out to taste the buzzing air
crawl inside to find the source of reverberation.
Between my ears I grasp at echoes
who escape between gaps in my fists
and I am left lying against the sheets who are purple, not green
fingers outstretched towards uncertain memories.
I just replaced the sheets on my bed
and their blankness is soothing as I lay against them
my body resting heavily,
I try to feel every fiber of their existence
but is like trying to feel the still air
or the rain drops of a heaving storm
and instead all I can feel is the pressure of their existence
I just lay back against the sheets that are not green
and feel the endless waves
Danielle is a college student pursuing a degree in Technology, Arts and Media. Sometimes she writes to fuel her boundless desire to create anything and everything. Her budding portfolio can be found at danielleemrich.wordpress.com