A Ten

My feet are planted.

My eyelids are drooping.

My heart rate is slowing.

The air around me stills,

Lulling me into the deepest sleep I've gotten in some time;

One that's unhurried, unbound by schedule and thought.

One filled with luxury and privilege.

Through my feet, I empty of all the obligations

From the past week.

I empty of emails and stressors

And draining meetups.

I'm drained and drained until I find myself empty,

Waiting, as sleep devours me,

For my body to fill with new hopes and dreams and wishes

For the week ahead.

Waiting to be filled up with peace.

My dad used to call this taking a five,

But as I sink into the couch,

My tired soul is determined to take a 10.