Sometimes it’s difficult to close my eyes at night.
As if a marionettist is cupping my cheek, pushing furrows into my brow and squeezing my eyelids closed, tight enough to peel until my forehead aches.
When my eyes glue shut for long enough, staticy patterns bob and dip in my vision until they swirl and mold into my mother and I am opening the garage door.
Breathing in the scent of tar, marlb...