My eyes are imagining
Zeke was nestled into my shoulder. He was still, his breathing even, but his eyes remained open and staring.
“I can’t sleep, Mama.”
I kissed him gently on the forehead. “Try closing your eyes,” I whispered. “And be very still.”
His breathing slowed and I felt his little body relax. I was sure he had finally surrendered to sleep when I heard his awestruck whisper:
When I close my eyes, it’s like I see lights.
I guess my eyes are imagining.