"The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life. Then, at the rim of vision, it gathered itself, and in one sweeping tide, rushed me to sleep."
--Sylvia Plath, from The Bell Jar
Some nights, nothing is more attractive than my bed: its fresh, clean cotton sheets enveloping me like a dune of fine white sand and its down-feather comforter leaving space for pockets of body heat to collect and nuzzle against my bare skin, while around me in the dark everything is hidden by velvety shadows that ease the transition between open and closed eyes, inviting me to drop my pressing eyelids and let a sequence of visual images begin to dance through my brain as the minty remnants of Colgate linger between my teeth, and cool air seeps in from the nearby window, a soothing contrast to my cozy warmth; as I stretch across the mattress, my limbs strive to find their perfect niches of comfort so that my body will just melt into a cohesive whole and slip away from my consciousness; this fluidity of the flesh forms a level of security that numbs my senses to sleep and refocuses my brain away from tangibility and toward a different dimension -- the realm of sweet, floating neurocycles: I am flying like a seagull, high above azure waves; looking down at my blushing, naked body after walking into a classroom full of people; biting into a giant mango, its ripe sticky juices running down my chin; laying enfolded in the arms of another warm body; these rapid eye movements suck me deeper into sleep, the state that all humans need to survive.