Bookends

I lay in my bed in this segment of the night. Short, untamed yellow strings fall from my head and lay like wet noodles against my face. My hair is wild.
Sleepwear is nothing but simple material made from cotton, and mine neglects to cover my kicking limbs. My legs are small in size, but wiggle like like lions wrestling their prey beneath the white sheets of my bed. They are wiggling with joy from this rare feeling I have just discovered.

Not long ago, see, a magician stopped by my house and replaced my bones with fragile pieces of glass and my skin with paper. Things changed after that.

But now, in this segment of the night, as I wiggle my legs in excitement and my eyes close their doors for the day, I rejoice alone in my bed over a matter that is foreign to me. I am experiencing the gift that people often take for granted, of feeling like a normal human being.

Strange, but wonderful, I am feeling no pain at all.
I think I will sleep well tonight.