Every night the battle wages.

Swaying. Gently. Like a breathe. It takes a moment to realize. I am in motion.  It passes. The subtle hint of comfort is gone. Rocking. Shaking. Ever increasing tempo. A violent tremble. A few desperate seconds. Maybe it will pass. I have to break through. Find the calm past the storm. When will it be over? Some storms last for centuries. I surrender. Eyes open to the darkness. I count the stars. Sometimes. Only if I try hard enough. I can see the lovers. The belt discarded. The sword, carelessly rested in the corner. Top, upright. Much like when it was raised. In protection. Who is the protector now? Accepting the inevitable. I rise, gingerly making my way through the darkness.  Senses flooded. I begin again. Next time. Perhaps. It will be different.

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