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only afterward, i drag to my room. crawl under the sheets fully clothed. and wait for the undertow. these worst moments come when i am sick or tired or both. the speed of the world slowed, somehow, as if i’d drunk a whole bottle of cough syrup. sticky and nauseating. tonight i yearn for the apathy of sleep. for the lack of words and the constant desire to describe the unnamable. but i never really sleep. wrapping myself in sheets that smell of a man who is merely a ghost. i realize under the cover of darkness and silence and flashes of vulnerability. i am one insignificant woman.