nearly to bed

When all but my small light
have been turned off for the night,
when each door closes
and a certain quiet envelops the house,
I feel pieces of me shimmer with the ticking clock,
refrigerator hum, ever so slight ceiling fan whistle.
I become silence, weary but lifted.
Emotional notions set aside through the day
come to life, not one by one,
but as a shoulder-dropping sigh,
a sense of everything and nothing,
a bit of sadness mixed with love.
Nearly to bed, yes nearly, but not just yet.

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