You'll either wake up to a normal day or

You

open your eyes reluctantly, feeling the oddly strong pull of the cushy material beneath. But against your winning arguments to remain, you pull yourself up, crawl towards the edge while forcibly removing the bony legs blocking the way, fail miserably to stand up steadily then clumsily insert the feet in a combination of blue and pink flip-flops.

But

instead of going through the usual body rituals: lavish on a myriad of hair products (you're this vain to this one body part), dress up and select matching earrings and, if time is on your side, a bag

But

instead of going out, ride on a trike and the long bus trip after, where you half-listen to a favorite radio show and half-drown in thoughts

But

instead of opening the heavy doors of the confined space you'll stay in for the next 8 hours (if lucky), walk the short walk towards your territory, and revive the box to which your eyes will be glued and your fingers will be married to, your bottoms supporting you all throughout, for the next 8 hours (again, if lucky)

Oh

you did all this, silly. Except for which came after; arriving in the simplest gimmick ever concocted, quietly, unexpectedly, just when you thought that one muscle can no longer tear, be stretched, and wrung. It exited with a person shorter.

Oh

you'll wake up to all this, again, tomorrow. But that thing that's prodding you to go through every act each day is no longer whole. You call it a thing, everybody else labeled it inspiration, it will be lesser. You will be steady for the spoils yet inside you will hurt, will live with the disappointment and with the imperfection.

You

will either wake up to a normal day or to that one dream you have, severed.

I secretly wish that someday you see that dream to its ending, unmarred.