But this morning I'm the only one awake in what seems like miles of silent rooms. The burning autumn early sun pours through open blinds, and even still this living room bites with the briskness of seasons turning. Coffee brews from the other room, a warm, rich sweetness awaiting to catch between the cup of my hands. Two appliances hum lulling mantras and we meditate.
I am the space around me, not a guest.
I have forgotten how I need my own space every now and then, how otherwise, my layers begin to peel apart. So this, I am rolling in, coating my skin in like dark mud. I won't attempt to wake him, he's tired from another long week of work anyway; the others are preoccupied.