Bannister-dented, I loll my head to the side, taking a moment, breathing a “huuuuu” into my wine glass and smirking, tucking my knees up to my chest – or my chest down to my knees – not caring enough anymore to keep tugging my skirt down. Stroking the bobbled wool of my tights, I feel cozy and safe. And tired. I let my eyelids droop as the inevitable call comes from my housemate’s room, and give the only reply I am capable of: a drowsy, contended “Mmmmm”.
Written in response to a prompt from Creative Collective during isolation from Coronavirus.