It doesn’t happen as often as it used to. Perhaps it slowly fades with age, like the belief in magic and imaginary friends. Littered with responsibilities and obligations, the landfill of the adult mind unintentionally crushes it into nonexistence, unaware even that it is missing.

It only, previously and presently, happens when she’s trying to sleep, never upon waking. It finds her drifting, in the state between slumber and waking, still coherent. It happens when her head clears and slowed thoughts begin to fall like leaves. They descend lazily until they gently disappear into the pile of transparent layers already accumulated. Resting on the floor of an unidentifiable area of her mind, the forgotten thoughts wait patiently for her to awake and think them back to life.

It happens when her eyes are closed and when they are open. It prefers no season, no specific hour. It is impartial to health and mood. It happens when she lies wrapped in lover’s arms and when she lies wrapped in nothing but blankets, alone. It happens randomly keeping no schedule. Its only consistency is that it happens before she sleeps and leaves her unmistakably certain that it was no dream.

She can describe it, now, no better than she ever could, making it impossible to discuss.  She often seeks the words to define it, always to no avail.  No master author can re-create it with the power of words; nor can any accomplished artist interpret it with paints or sculptures.  Her inability to explain it seems tragic at times, at others, a blessing.

Vertigo she mused sleepily. No, that doesn’t encompass it; she silently debated with herself. Similar, but it’s so much more than that; vertigo wouldn’t be proper representation for even the beginning of it.

These thoughts would be the last to descend and join the layers of thoughts patiently lying in wait of revival upon her awakening. They would; however, not be remembered.

It happened that night, as it always did. It followed routine and she sensed its approach. She laid still in anticipation, eagerly waiting for it to fully present itself, develop around her, and completely encompass her.

Its arrival thickened the air and it circulated around her, heavier and denser. She felt the familiar pressure against her body, resistant to her movements. The pressing force was slight and not at all uncomfortable. She tested it, as she always did, by raising her hand. Her flexibility and speed were dulled, yet unalarming; and her actions required no extra effort. She was reminded of running across the swimming pool as a child. The water hindered mobility, making her feel like she was racing in slow motion.