The sheets are so snuggly warm,
the drink so stiflingly hot
the weather so gray and drizzly
the room so eerily quiet.
You reach over, careful not to spill
the tea on your bedside table,
and you grasp the worn, thin paperback.
The smell so aged and yet so fresh.
The cover pops open - and it's so routine
that you don't remember opening it at all.
Suddenly, you're not in the cozy sheets,
with the warm beverage besides you,
in that dreary weather,
in that still room,
on that fateful Tuesday,
or Wednesday,
or Sunday,
or any other day.
You are but anywhere else -
with no concept of time - time does not exist forevermore.
You are in another world,
another city, another dimension, another time.
Wonderland. Oz. Panem. Hogwarts.
London, Paris, Rome.
Gotham City, Metropolis, Tatooine.
The future, the present, the past.
It all hazes suddenly - and your smile falters.
Why do I feel so disconnected?
Suddenly, you are in your sheets - the heat has dulled.
The half - empty drink has gone cold.
The sun has come out again.
The room starts to fill with noise.
The book has closed - and the red numbers on the clock say what you don't want them to.
It's morning.
