I sit on my couch and listen to the rain fall.
I have a few minutes to myself,
no tasks to complete in the moment,
only items on a To-Do list to ignore until later.
Time is irrelevant because it is my privilege to control it.

The rain’s rhythm lulls me into a quiet semi-slumber,
but I only give myself a few minutes to rest.
I have a sick obsession with movement
and my mind fights my body’s natural urge to take the necessary pause.

My mind slows from a sprint
to a brisk jog
to a light walk
to a slow saunter
And it rests on a vision I’ve long avoided:

I am in another dimension.

I am in the same position on my couch
Listening to the rainfall
Fighting this body’s natural urge to sleep
And my clothing is wrinkled.
A child rests by my side.
She is six or seven years old.
She has large brown eyes and thick, wavy hair.
She smells like fresh apples and dirt.
She presses her little body against my untoned tummy.
She reaches her arms and tries to get them all the way around me.
I feel my body cradle her featherweight frame.

But the phone rings
and snaps me back to time’s irrelevance:
on my couch
listening to the rainfall
dismissing my body’s natural urge to rest
and shattering the vision with a To-Do list.

I smooth the wrinkles from my t-shirt,
run my hands across my flat stomach
and look over at the empty cushion beside me
wondering if she’ll ever return.