waking

I think I hear first. Upon waking, I only notice sounds; noises without differentiation. The way birds tend to chirp the morning in, or on a windy day, the shuffle of blinds upon the sills; I wouldn't know the difference. After all, the chirping of birds could have come from the blinds, which might have been the sound of people talking in the other room, whose voices reverberate off of the walls, off of my cochlea. 


I think I hear first because I feel second. And I only see thereafter; my eyelids pull themselves apart and I always find myself cold. It's not that I physically feel cold second - I think it's fourth. I even kick off my blanket, somewhere around the third cycle of REM, yet I am only aware fourth. Upon waking, then hearing, then feeling, then seeing, I find myself cold. 


My problem remains in the second. I am often stuck in the second, in your absence. It's similar to the vacant feeling of canceled plans or a subtle cognitive dissonance that crept up unnoticed. Of my breath, there is no promise of you breathing it in, there is no definite chance to see you again. It's your absence, I presume - no, I am sure, that makes me want to pull up my blanket. I want to shut my eyes. I want to lay down my head. I want to cover my ears. I want to go back to sleep.


And upon waking, if I don't hear you, nor feel you, see you, nor touch you, it just might not be worth waking up at all.