In a state between sleep and awake. The day is the same as any other. The pillow is warm beneath my face. Slowly, the day forms: who I am, where I need to be, the phone calls I am expecting. Is it the weekend? Have I woken up before my alarm? Is my alarm set? Every weekend morning begins in is this way, as if I am rediscovering who I am, reborn. I roll over and pull the thick black comforter over my head. I lie there in the satin, remembering. The bed is large and you are not here to share it with me.