Curtains

No, I don' t think their language was ever mine. I think i wanted it to be mine, and once, I may have even hoped to have learnt their language. Those words are dead to my tongue now or my tongue is dead to their words. Either way, it is only silence that remains.
Slept for over thirteen hours last night. No dreams that I recall. This amount of sleep, combined perhaps with those panicky two pints in the Albert, drunk too quickly, have caused me to wake with a nauseous headache. The flat is silent. I heard Andy come in in the small hours. Won't be seeing him till after nightfall now.
The curtains are still drawn in my room, and the darkness is here is heavy as quilts and blanket on a winter morning. The laptop screen glares, and is brighter than the daylight seeping from underneath mt curtains.