Fajr.

A dream, dread, and a reset.

Mama, wake up, Fajr.

My 12 year old is hovering over me, quietly, at 6 am. I must nod my acknowledgement, because he nods back and walks away. I will get up, I tell myself. I will. In just one or two more minutes.

I don’t get up. I fall back into a deep sleep after having tossed and turned for the majority of the night.