At What Point

When the fan circles
Sometimes
The blinds rock back and forth
As though there were a breeze.

They make a soft sound—
You know the one—
And settle gently
Back into place.

Meanwhile, I lay awake.
Maybe you don’t know why;
Maybe I don’t. But I can’t
Fall back to sleep.

I look at you and wonder
How much of this is real.
While the blinds remind me
They’re still rocking in their breeze.

And the fan circles
Back to my insecurities
While I try to toss and turn
Gently enough for you to sleep.

Our fake wind fills the room
With white noise against a backdrop
Of everything we’ve ever said
On repeat.

I look at the marks on your back
And wonder how long they’ll be here.
Then I shake myself; sometimes I hate
Myself, because

At a certain point, you just
Have to trust, and I think
I have a hard time.
I have a hard time doing that.

I have a hard time doing that
While the fan circles for a fake breeze
And the blinds have trouble, this
Time, finding their place against the screen.

Stay gold,
Sabrina