When will morning come?

Today I laid on the bathroom floor. I pressed my cheek against the cold white tiles and listened to the muffled sounds of my dad and my brother fighting downstairs. And the time paused. It paused for a while and the whole time it was paused the muffles in my ear never went away. I’m telling you about the pause because how best to describe a pause than telling you ineffectual information and wasting your time. I thought about a few random things, like how Izzie Stevens also laid on the bathroom floor after Denny died. And then I thought about how she actually had a tangible reason to lay on the bathroom floor. And then I thought for a while about how I think too much and that maybe even having thoughts about the illegitimacy of my problems was what made them legitimate in the first place. I thought about that I was thinking about the fact that I was thinking and that I should’ve put on a load of washing like I said I would today and then the pause ended. My vision of each my seperate eyes was intertwined and the tears on my face had dried, leaving a trail down my nose. I watched as the skin on my knuckles slowly turned purple from the cold and I thought of the window I never closed and the blanket I never grabbed and the washing I never put on and the reasons I never had to be lying on the bathroom floor. And all the reasons I did have to be lying on the bathroom floor. And so I laid on the bathroom floor a bit longer because my muscles seemed to have forgotten which movements they could make, and no willpower and none of the shivering from the cold could make them remember. And my heart starting beating really fast even though it had just died and I thought about the quote: “I don’t pay attention to the world ending. It has ended for me many times and began again in the morning.” And I wondered how soon morning would come.