Sleep; sheets; a sock
“I crawl into bed at night wearing layers upon layers, wool socks included, and wake up stark naked only to find a gnarled mound of clothes bunched at the foot of the bed (futon, couch, floor), trapped by the tightly tucked-in sheet. When bad things happen – when dogs die – I think we push them down to the end of our beds and sometimes forget they are even there until years later, when you’re folding the fitted sheet from that apartment and the sock falls out and you cry and cry until your shoulders hurt and you forgot you still remember.”
