Being Comforted

Perfect Edinburgh monings, when the sky was the same colour as the inside of an eggshell (and as wet). Where I slept on the floor, it was more like a nest than a bed. When I woke from bad dreams (of wandering ghosts, monstrous spiders) and turn over, snuffling in floor dust, I could sleep again as long as you’re snoring in the bed above me. I’ve never slept so safe as when you’re there.