Morning Narcissist

99-word Dream Art

I’m a morning narcissist. Slow to rise. Slow to re-engage humanity. Pillows and quilts cocoon me. I glare as you shuffle to the dresser for socks difficult to don two hours before the sun rises. Can I love-bomb you back to bed? Manipulate your meds? Scold you for your inabilities? The stroke that fouls your eyesight spoils your gaze. The dogs stir, nails clicking on hardwood. “I got them,” I say. Our eyes meet. Beyond stroke-altered features, I see your vulnerability and wonder what it must be like for you. I start the coffee, pour a cup of empathy.