Outside the Window

A thick mattress; one kind of like those new types they sale on tv with the memory foam. This one’s not memory foam, but it’s kind of like it. A mattress cover adds the plush that’s missing along with the 4 to 5 winter blankets layered on top. Of course, it’s not complete without the assortment of pillows and cushions flowering the head of the bed. All of this, and only this, constitutes the perfect environment to fall asleep in and wake up to in the morning. It’s how I woke up this morning. And it was almost everything that I had known it could be. My eyes had opened and just as quickly closed as I realized the simple blessed predicament of my reality–I could sleep longer. And then I tried to. But something wouldn’t let me. I was determined to throw my blankets overhead and block out any distractions to my slumber, but still again, I was hindered. I took a small peep from under my blanket towards the window above my body, on the same wall my bed was touching. I could see nothing but gray. It was like my place had been resting inside a thunder cloud and the window peered into it. The strange thing about it was that I didn’t live in a cloud; I lived in a house on Cobblepot Street and though we would see a lot of rain, viewings of fog were so few and far between, that if someone grew up here never being told what it was, they’d cower at the sight of a cloud being that low. Not curious enough to check the weather outside, I closed the window and dug myself deep into my cave of warmth until the only thing I could sense was the increase of my breath intake. The only flaw of the human body: it needed fresh air with every inhale. It didn’t take long before my lungs rebelled against me and I had to uncover myself in order not to suffocate. I was pretty fed up at this point. How dare the world interrupt such a perfect moment of tranquility with its eeriness and laws. I looked up to find the gray still staring back at me through the window.