He sits quiet in my head
Not drawing attention or making a mess,
Just calmly telling old stories
Of days long passed.
He has stopped interrupting my thoughts,
But instead waits quietly until they are through
so that he can recall his own.
I avoid hearing his tales
until my world around me is completely dark
And the mountains of white blankets
cover my tired body.
It is then that I am lullabied by scattered stories
Of who we used to be.