pillow talk

i gently lay my tired, aching body onto my bed, flopping my head onto a welcoming pillow. a sigh presses through my lips, and i close my eyes as i let my body relax. i thank my loving bed for holding me to its comforting body. shadows flicker across my ceiling as headlights pass, and i let my eyes move with them. i breathe. in. calm, content, happy. out. stress, worry, anger. i let my emotions slip out of my body like grains of sand through cupped hands. blankets provide me with a safe cocoon from the world outside. i slowly drift out of consciousness.
i am running, or trying to run. i feel like the air before me is too thick for me to go through. i press against it as hard as i can, but i am still running too slow. i need to go faster. i look down at my feet, realizing i don't know how to run. i stumble around on my uncoordinated legs, trying to get them to cooperate. they won't. they feel detached, part of someone else, not me. i can't control them, i can't control anything. the harder i run, the more i stumble. i fall in slow motion. i pick myself back up on wobbly legs. try again. i push off the ground with my feet, but i can't gain any momentum. i can't even remember why i'm running now, but it doesn't matter. i just know i have to go. i push my heavy feet off the ground one more time before tripping headfirst into a consuming darkness.