Forty-Eight Beats Per Minute
I woke up two hours before my alarm. The TV was still on, but barely audible, and it wasn’t the thing that woke me. There was a dream. There is always a dream.
I had three messages on my phone from three different people, still accustomed to my old hours. I’m not up all night anymore. I’m just as likely now to fall asleep watching a movie before I know I’m even sleepy, and be up before the sunrise, before my brain knows what time it really is.
The only thing that is the same in my very different life is the coffee. Except now, that first cup, and the time it takes to consume it, is as sacred as the silence that surrounds me as I drink. Now, the only sounds that keep company with me are the clock on the wall behind my head, my nearly silent breathing, and, if I’m truly still, the slow beating of my heart.
© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday