Nomad Fever Dream

That Madi cocooned herself in her house with no spiders, hated spiders, spiders scared her.

Such a stable, predictable woman. Gossiping with her massive social circle on her massive velvet couch on repeat for 4 years.

I could tell you I miss her. I could also tell you that a gaggle of baby arachnids scurried around the shower floor today and I was like, great, I haven't showered with company in a while, turned on the water, and got in with them.

This Madi owns no house, knows no one. From social commitments six days a week, to silence broken only by the shuffling of different sets of eight tiny legs.

Each night is a fever dream. Sleep, when? Wake, where? It's pitch dark, it's bright out, it's pitch dark, it's bright out, what time is it? Galaxies and strobe lights flash on the bedroom walls. Red yellow pink green red yellow pink green slept 4 hours last night. Dreams of fragments and splinters and color and chaos. Dreams of places I never knew existed, dreams of places that don't exist yet, dreams of the future dreams of the past dreams of alternate realities and visions of pink green red yellow pink green red

And dreams of you.

Just kidding. Never dreams of you.

"Are you so sure?" You ask behind me, the gravel in your voice like sandpaper on my skin, so close the hairs on my neck prickle.

My eyes snap open and I inhale sharply as a brown recluse crawls slowly over my cornea.